Grant Us All
by Ziva- Zia- Z
Summary: A family, growing out of the ashes of a fallen dynasty. A new alliance against an familial enemy with a shared tie to the past. Can a former missing princess recover what rightfully belongs to her, and keep not only herself, but her family away from the firing squad? 3rd in the Fliaanian Royals series.
1. Chapter 1

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

 **A/N:** **Written: 2006. Found: 2017- Licia**

 _1939_

The book fell to the floor, forgotten.

 _"Fabala! Come on! Papa's waiting for us!"_

 _She turned, reaching down-_

 _"Leave that! One of the maids can come pick it up. Now come on!" She laughed, allowing herself to be pulled from the room. The girls rushed through the palace, out past the lake and tennis courts, towards the watering hole with the rope swing; their favorite upon favorite place at Caprice-in-the-Pines. Though they enjoyed rowing on the lake or swimming in the ocean, or even playing tennis against the sailors, the watering hole was their private place; the place where the children could go with their father and forget about being royal for a few hours._

 _She skidded to a stop, watching as their father let go of the rope and dropped into the water below. A moment passed, before their brother rushed past-_

 _"Shell, no! You'll hurt yourself!"_

 _But the boy ignored her, ignoring the swing all together. With a cry of excitement, he dropped into the water, even as she turned, anticipating the cry of pain- but none came._

 _"Come on, girls! Jump! The water's fine! I promise!"_

 _Without a word, Sophelia and Oziandra did; grabbing hands and jumping in. Nessa turned to her. "Come on, Fabala. Together?"_

 _She glanced at the water, before turning back to her sister. "I don't know, Nessa-"_

 _"But we do everything together. That's why Mama and Papa nicknamed us the Small Pair, remember? Because we're a pair, we'll always be a pair. Please, Fabala."_

 _A wave of something flashed across her face._

She shifted, brow furrowing.

 _"We won't always be a pair."_

 _"What? Fabala, that's silly. We're always going to be a pair, no matter what happens. Always. We're sisters, remember? You're my best friend and I'm yours." She threw her arms around her sister. "I love you, Fabala."_

 _"I love you, too, Nessa." She whispered, holding her sister close._

 _"So how could you leave me to die?" Slowly, she pulled away._

 _"What are you-" But the sight of her little sister stole the very breath from her lungs. No longer the beautiful twelve-year-old girl she had been; her body was riddled with slices from bayonets and bullet wounds, her clothing ripped and torn, her skin black and bloody, her skull slightly bashed in. The long dark hair she and her sisters were known for hung in strings; the white bow she'd worn was gone. There were also burns on her body, melting through her skin and revealing flashes of bone._

 _"You let me die. We were supposed to protect each other, and instead, you tried to escape; you left me at the mercy of that guard! He destroyed me! He ruined me and then he killed me! And you survive? It's not fair!" Her hands, the skin eaten away, revealing bony fingers reached, wrapping around her older sister's neck. "You left me to die!"_

 _"Mama!"_

She bolted upright, heart leaping into her throat as the nightmare faded. She was in the Cerulean Room, curled up on the sofa, the book she'd been occupying herself with open on its pages on the floor. She was alone, the door to her boudoir closed; giving her the privacy she so desperately longed for, being a wife and mother to eight. There was no sign of Nessa, no sign of the watering hole at Caprice-in-the-Pines or the palace itself. After a moment, she ran a hand through her hair, taking a deep breath. "Just a dream... that turned into a nightmare."

"Mama!"

A moment passed, before she picked the book up and set it on the end table, before climbing to her feet and going to the door. She found Fechín on the other side of the door, black hair pulled back in two braids down either side of her head, hands behind her back. "I thought I told you not to bother me by knocking when I'm trying to get a little time to myself in the Blue Room." She put her hands on her hips, silently rolling her eyes at her children's name for her boudoir, because they couldn't properly pronounce Cerulean yet.

The just-turned-eight-year-old met her mother's gaze. "I didn't knock, Mama."

"No, you just kept calling, which is worse." Her mother muttered, before kneeling down to her daughter's level. _Although considering how that nightmare was turning out, I should be grateful._ "Now what is so important you had to interrupt me, Fechín?" The little girl blinked.

Of all her children, it was Fechín who sadly, unnerved Elphaba the most. Not for anything she did or said, but for the way those big blue eyes of hers could drink a person in and make them forget what they'd been focused on before- so like her father's would do. Of all four of her daughters, only Faola and Fechín resembled Trism in personality. Both girls were calm and relaxed- so laid back they were both nearly parallel with the floor, like their father was- and it both worried and unnerved the young empress. The last person who had been as laid back as her daughters was Oziandra- for despite her nickname of the Governess, her stern words and motherly ways with her younger siblings- the second oldest Kauri also had the most relaxed personality of all four princesses. She had been Melena's un-admitted favorite for a reason, that hadn't gone unnoticed by the other girls. Yes, she definitely saw a lot of her older sister in her two oldest daughters.

"Daddy is back from the station with Grandmama, great-Grandmama and Cousin Glinda." And then, without another word, she turned and proceeded to skip out of her parents' bedroom and down the hall towards the stairs, black braids bouncing as she went.


	2. Chapter 2

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

 **A/N:** **Written: 2006. Found: 2017- Licia**

Instead of following her daughter, she returned to the Cerulean Room, slipping out onto the balcony. She found everyone outside, enjoying the sunshine. Glinda, Partra and Locasta were sitting together having tea and the children were running around enjoying a game of tag.

 _"Wait for me! I want to play!"_

 _"Okay, Nessa. You're it!"_

Strong arms slid around her from behind, and she sighed, relaxing back against him. "Why don't you go join them, Fabala?"

She turned her head, raising an eyebrow. "And how would it look, Tris, for the empress or the queen to go running around chasing after her children? Why do you do it? Is that conduct properly _befitting_ the _husband_ of the Empress of Fliaan?"

He met her gaze. "It's _befitting_ a mother of _eight children_ , Fabala."

"But I'm not _just_ a mother, Trism. I'm a ruler, to _two_ countries."

"I'm _well aware_ , darling. You rule one of those countries _with me_."

She bit her lip. "And for that matter, is that conduct properly _befitting_ the King of the Vinkus? To go running around in the backyard with his children?"

"We aren't in the Vinkus at the moment, Fabala, we're in Fliaan. We're at Colwen Grounds, our _home_ , remember? We aren't royals at the moment; we're a _family_." He slid his arms back around her waist, tugging her to him. "We're parents." She tried hard to keep from smiling as he kissed the space beneath her ear, before nipping gently at her earlobe. On instinct, her eyes rolled heavenward briefly, before she turned, grabbing his hand and pulling him back into the palace.

With the bedroom door locked, she walked him back to the bed, pushing him onto it before climbing up after him. "Fabala-" _I forgot, that it doesn't take much to turn my darling queen on-_

"I want this- us- now." She hoisted the skirt of her dress up, straddling him, capturing his mouth in hers. His hands fell to grasp lightly at her waist, and she pushed herself into him, grinning into the kiss at his reaction. "Make love to me, my king." She whispered, meeting his gaze. He slid his hands down to grasp the bottom of her dress, before stopping, the night their youngest twins were born still sharp in his mind. He pulled back, turning his head as she moved to kiss him again.

"Fabala, we can't."

A look of confusion crossed over her lovely features. "Of course we can, Tris-" She moved to unbutton his shirt, when he grabbed her wrist.

"No, Fabala." She met his gaze, sliding off his lap onto the bed.

"Do you... not find me attractive anymore? Is that it?" He turned to her, shocked. "I know my body isn't the same when we got married, but I've had _children_ , Trism. I've carried and given birth to eight children. _Your_ children. You are-"

"That's not what this is about! You could have had... _thirty_ children and you would still be the most beautiful woman in the world to me!"

"Then _what is it_? Are we just not going to have sex anymore? If you're worried about us being careful, Tris, we'll _be careful-_ "

He stood, taking a deep breath, running his hands through his hair. "We were careful the last time, too, _remember_? It nearly cost you your life. I'm not going to risk it again." He returned to the bed, perching on the edge of it and taking her hands. "I love you with all my heart. You're my wife and the mother of my children- _our_ children." Gently, he cradled her face in his hand. "You've made me the luckiest man in the entire world; I can't imagine my life without you in it, and when I do... I'm so glad that isn't reality."

They shifted, lying so they faced each other. "Why did we fight this?"

"Fight what, Fabala?" He propped himself onto his elbow.

"This. Us. This marriage."

"Because you were married to my brother." He whispered, and she winced; it had become an unspoken rule, that _he_ was never mentioned- the amount of heartache and pain he'd caused was unsurmountable. Yes, he'd saved her from the slaughter in that basement, but he'd also done everything possible to hurt her afterwards. And the silent, psychological damage he'd done to his little brother-

Trism never said anything, but it was evident that much of what his brother said and did hurt him deeply. There were days when he questioned not just his marriage, but his right to the throne, his very existence, and she knew it was because of his relationship with his brother. The deep, unnerving psychological damage inflicted was going to be hell for him to accept, let alone let go of, but he could, she _knew_ he could.

She shifted onto her back, studying the ceiling above their bed. "That man nearly destroyed me." She met his gaze. "Like he nearly destroyed you." After a moment, she turned back to studying the ceiling, as though all the answers to the universe resided above them. "He stole our first child from us, tried his hardest to destroy our marriage, did his best to destroy me before I'd even returned to Fliaan. And the damage he did to you," She shook her head. "He was not a husband. He cared only for himself. And to think, I once considered giving up everything I'd returned to just to be with him again."

She felt Trism tense beside her, and reached out, taking his hand. "I didn't. I _wouldn't_. I couldn't, not now, not ever. I have you, and our children. Our life... our marriage... To be honest, I wish our parents had decided on a betrothal for _us_ all those years ago, not your brother and I. I mean... imagine... had that happened-"

"You would have probably gotten out sooner. You would have had a few years as a princess unlike the... year and a half or so you did have." She chuckled, meeting his gaze.

"We probably _still_ would have had eight children, they just would have been spaced out more-"

"We probably would have had three or four-"

She shook her head. "No, we would have still had eight." They spent several minutes arguing softly, before he grabbed her around the waist, pulling her to him. "Trism, stop! You know I'm ticklish!"

"Exactly-" Her laughter made his heart flutter, and eventually, he pulled away, brushing a strand of hair out of her eyes. "It was you."

"What?" She tilted her head to look up at him. "What did you say, my king?"

"It was you. Who sent that creature to save me that day in the well." She sat up, now thoroughly confused. Without a word, she reached out, resting a hand to his forehead.

"Are you suffering from fever, darling? You're talking nonsense." But he grabbed her hand, pressing a kiss to her palm with a shake of his head.

"I know it was you, Fabala. She looked almost exactly like you- except her skin was green. But it was you. I know it was."

"Tris-" He sat up, pulling her closer, capturing her lips with his.

"Our fates have always been tied together, Fabala. I realize it now. I was meant to marry a Thropp, but not the daughter I thought, just as you were meant to marry a Tigelaar."

* * *

Twenty minutes later, she allowed him to tug her downstairs towards the garden. But the sight of a page standing in the foyer caused them both pause.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, Your Majesties, but the Governor of Munchkinland is here to see you."

The couple shared a glance. Normally, Zor and Trot would inform them of a visit, not just drop by unexpectedly. For them to just drop by, it had to be urgent.


	3. Chapter 3

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

 **A/N:** **Written: 2006. Found: 2017- Licia**

They found the young couple in the garden with the others; their children- for they had now a total of four, two daughters and two sons- were playing with Faola and her siblings. Tip, their oldest, was the same age as Havni and Fechín, and if he were honest, he had a tiny crush on the oldest of the twins, but he'd never admit it. Though it was completely evident to both their parents ,and like their older brother, Amalina, Ojo, and Zixi, the three youngest, had come to think of the Tigelaar children as their closest friends and confidantes, for they had no other children to really play with, and had not been as exposed to the world around them as the Tigelaars were. Safe to say, Trot and Zor were fairly protective of their kids.

"Zor, is everything all right?" The young Governor turned as Trism and Elphaba joined them.

"I'm sorry for showing up like this, Trism, Elphaba."

"It's perfectly all right, Zor." Elphaba replied, pressing a soft kiss to Trot's cheek. "It's just rare that you visit unannounced."

The Governor and his wife exchanged a glance, and Elphaba felt her heart drop into her stomach. "Can we talk somewhere private?" The young empress glanced at her husband, before nodding silently.

"Of course. My boudoir okay?"

"That's fine."

* * *

Once settled behind the closed door of the Cerulean Room, Elphaba turned her attention to the matter at hand. No longer the carefree, young mother of eight, she now listened in concerned silence as the Governor explained the issue. "Ev is threatening to declare war on Munchkinland."

Elphaba sighed, her eyes closing. She rubbed her forehead, her own words ringing loud and clear in her head. _"If Ev goes to war, then since I'm Partra's granddaughter, I will have no choice but to come to Ev's defense because my cousin is the King."_

 _"Damn it."_

"Fabala?" Trism reached out to take her hand, but she stood, going to the fireplace. He glanced at Zor and Trot, just as confused as they were.

"The day our engagement was announced, Tris. You remember why they pushed our marriage?"

"In case of war, but most alliances are-"

"Ev was pushing for war with Munchkinland back in 'twenty-four. They knew that because I'm Partra's granddaughter, and therefore, Sarima's great-niece and Everic's cousin, that if I married you, Ev would have the backing of _two_ countries if war broke out." Her gaze moved from the photographs on the mantel to the portrait. "Everic has gone insane, if he believes that I will take his side in war. He may be family, but blood is _not_ always thicker than water." She reached out, brushing her fingers over the faces of her family, forever frozen in time. "He signed my family's _death warrant_ by turning us away. Papa asked for one thing- not his throne, or his country- just asylum, safety from the revolutionaries, but Everic couldn't do that. He was so concerned with keeping his _precious_ throne that the very lives of his own cousin and his family were insignificant to him. And now he expects me to side with him, because we are _family_ , we share _blood_."

Tears came to her eyes, blurring the faces of her mother and father. "I won't." She turned back to the others. "If Ev goes to war with Munchkinland, I won't side with Everic. Fliaan will not take the side of the man who _killed_ my family."

"Fabala, Everic didn't kill-"

 _"He might as well have, Trism!"_ She cried, turning to her husband as he stood to go to her. _"He turned us away! Not just my parents, but my siblings and I! We didn't care about his Goddamn throne! We just wanted to get out of Fliaan alive! We wanted safety!_ _That's all!_ We didn't want _his throne_ , we didn't want _his country_ , we simply wanted _safety_. He couldn't- he _wouldn't-_ give us that. So why should _I_ give him _help_ if he goes to war? He plays the blood card now; when my parents played that _very same card_ , he turned them away. He showed _exactly_ how high he holds _blood_." She turned back to the portrait, eyes locking on her father's face. "I will not back the murderer of my family, blood or no. You and Trot have shown more loyalty to me, and Fliaan, than Everic _ever_ did."

The Governor and his wife shared a glance. "Elphaba, we _don't want_ to go to war. And we _certainly_ don't want to drag you into it. _Either_ you or Trism." Trot replied, taking Zor's hand.

"You're a good friend to us, Elphaba. Both of you." Zor added, meeting Trism's gaze. The young king nodded, returning to his chair, perching his chin in his hand as he sat back. "The last thing we want is to involve _either_ Fliaan or the Vinkus. Fliaan has finally settled under its own revolution; the very revolution that wiped out the monarchy and destroyed your family, Elphaba. And the Vinkus... from what I understand, it's a peaceful country."

"We only go to war if we must." Trism replied; he glanced at his wife, but she hadn't moved, hadn't torn her eyes from the portrait of her family. "We avoid it at all costs. My grandfather believed in peace among nations and countries; war was a necessity _only if_ peace was unreachable. War costs too much- not just in money, but in lives and years, and it's not worth it, for the end cost will never restore the lives lost or years spent." He straightened, folding his hands in front of him. "But the problem is that everybody wants to rule the world, and they use war as a means to do so." The king wrinkled his nose. "If peace cannot be reached, I-" He glanced at his wife. " _We-_ " He turned back to Zor and Trot. "Will go to war, but _only_ after all attempts to stop it have been thoroughly, absolutely exhausted."

Neither Zor nor Trot missed the glance Trism threw his wife; it was evident that when it came to the well-being of the Vinkus, they made those choices together. Still new to this game, Zor and Trot were slowly learning that playing politics was all about compromise- if not between countries, then between partners. This young couple made it clear that while Trism had just as much power, he still bowed to her when required. Elphaba controlled the game; every move Trism made, every treaty signed, every declaration declared or official visit scheduled, was only done with Elphaba's permission. She was the strongest piece on the board.

"You don't control the board. _I_ do."

"I'm... sorry? I don't understand." Trism smiled softly at Trot. She was still so young, she'd had so few years as the First Lady; unlike he and Elphaba, who had grown up watching their parents play this game, Trot- and yes, even Zor- still had a lot to learn.

"We don't control the board." Trism replied, as Cattery entered with tea and coffee. Once she was gone, the young king continued. "We never have and we never will. Women control the board. They carry the bloodlines; blood is more important than name, in this royal game, and Everic knows it. I move because she tells me too. She says 'Jump', I ask, 'How high, Your Majesty?'"

"That's horrible." Trot whispered; she knew the royal houses were intermarried, interconnected, inter _bred_ on some level, but this? What kind of people acted... _like this?_

"That's _normal_ , Trot." He whispered. "A king does not make a decision without his queen's consent. He does not sign a treaty without his wife's input. She whispers in his ear, and only after considering her suggestions or comments, will he then make a decision. They work together, but one is stronger than the other, and together, they're unbeatable." He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, gaze going to the chess board sitting on the table beside the cups, the near-finished game sparking an idea.

"Think of it this way- the whole objective of Chess is to checkmate the opposing king and protect the queen." He moved the king forward a space. "The more pieces removed, the greater the chance to protect her; by the end of the game, the king is one of the most powerful pieces on the board, _but_ he's still not as powerful as the queen. The only way to truly protect the queen once the end of the game rolls around, is to have nearly all pieces removed from the board, and checkmate the opposing king, usually with only one other piece of the same color on the board." In a matter of minutes, he'd removed the other opposing pawn, and, together with the queen, in a rare move, checkmated the opposing king. "When it's the king and queen together, the checkmate is stronger, because you have the two strongest pieces on the board working as one. It all comes down to strategy and tactics- one requires thought, the other observation." He picked up the white queen, studying it. "It doesn't matter which does which, as long as they work together to make the best decision, because the best decision will help them to win."

"And the royal houses-?" Trot asked.

Trism chuckled, setting the queen back on the board. "The royal houses believe they are _all_ winning the game. That couldn't be further from the truth. In actuality, many of them have been in checkmate for so long, they refuse to acknowledge it. Ev is one of them. Everic's wife passed a few years ago; he is simply a king, forever in a perpetual checkmate, unaware that he can no longer move or make any game-saving changes, and so he is grasping at straws to save his dying dynasty. Sad, really. My mother is from Ev. She has always been fond of Everic... but he is making moves that will only hurt him in the end."

"Wait, so you're... _cousins_?" A look of horror crossed Trot's pretty features, and Trism chuckled softly.

"No. We're not. My mother was born in Ev; she was a lowly princess; Everic was Frexpar's cousin on his mother's side. There's more of a connection somehow, but these families are all connected in some way, that it's laughable to try to keep them all straight."

"I will not let Everic win. He's an aging king who thinks he controls the entire game. He doesn't. _I_ control it. I will not let an aging king dictate a world he no longer belongs in." Everyone turned, as Elphaba slowly tore her gaze from the portrait, turning back to them. "If Ev goes to war with Munchkinland, I will side with Munchkinland, blood be damned."


	4. Chapter 4

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

 **A/N:** **Written: 2006. Found: 2017- Licia**

"Are you sure it's wise, my love, to side with Munchkinland if war is inevitable?"

"I won't side with Everic, Tris. He as good as slaughtered my family by turning us away when we needed help the most. He can seek help elsewhere if war breaks out; he will not get it from me."

Trism and Elphaba had requested Zor and his family stay for the night; they had come all this way, it was only right they stay at Colwen Grounds; there were plenty of rooms, and the children could spend some time together. The others at the table fell silent, and after a moment, Elphaba glanced at each of them. She wrinkled her nose at her oldest, reaching under the table and gently tapping her oldest daughter's knee. "Sit up, Faola. We have guests. It's not polite to slouch. You're-"

 _"You're a Kauri, not a pig lounging in mud, Nessa. Do you see your sisters slouching?"_

"You're a young lady. Do you see Trot slouching?" Elphaba whispered, leaning close to her daughter. The nearly-ten-year-old girl glanced at the First Lady, who smiled softly at her, and after a moment, she sat up, lifting her head, black curls bouncing slightly. Zor's gaze darted between the children, and he wrinkled his nose.

"So let me see if I've got this right. Faola," He nodded to the oldest girl. "Chiss." The eight-and-a-half-year-old glanced at the Governor. "Havni and Fechín?" Both girls nodded. "Ryn, Vala, Ruli and Kió. Maybe?"

Elphaba laughed softly, shaking her head. "You got the first four right."

"Not the last four?" She shook her head again. "Well how does it go, then?"

"Faola," Elphaba nodded to her oldest. "Chiss," The oldest boy quickly smiled at Zor. "Havni and Fechín, Kió, Ryn," She nodded to the two youngest, beside him and Trot. "Vala and Ruli. Kió is your godson, remember? He's eleven months younger than Alina."

"I still can't believe you two decided to have _eight_ children." Trot said, sipping her wine.

"We didn't decide," Trism started. " _Your husband_ put the idea into my wife's head, and she refused to let it go until she had her eight."

The young empress blushed, and Glinda chuckled softly. "Fabala always wanted children, from the time she was Vala's age." Silence soon fell, only the sounds of cutlery on china breaking it occasionally.

"So tell me, Elphaba, what was it like growing up as a... Auri?"

 _"Kauri."_ Faola corrected gently. "It means 'Grand Princess' in Fliaanian."

"K _i_ auri."

"K _ay_ uri." Slowly, Trot imitated the young girl's pronunciation, receiving a smile from the child when she got it right. Trism chuckled softly, setting the bread basket beside his wife. She reached for the basket, fingers curling around a slice.

 _"Papa, please, may we?"_

 _"Black bread will do us just fine, girls."_

 _"But we always have black bread, Papa-"_

 _"If it's good enough for the Fliaanian people, it's good enough for us. Remember that, children."_

 _Reluctantly, she took a slice, the only dissatisfaction being the look that crossed her face as she set it on her plate. Papa always insisted on black bread during dinner; a staple of the Fliaanian diet, the children were as used to black bread as muskatka- a rich, thin pancake filled with fruit, nuts and cream and wrapped in a square like a present, dusted with powdered sugar and drizzled with honey, usually enjoyed as a dessert after dinner or during tea- but still, black bread did get tiring after a while. And after spending two weeks in the City visiting Grandmama, the girls had gotten used to the rich, flavor-filled desserts and treats the bakeries and restaurants had to offer. Compared to the treats in the City, with its array of tastes and textures of breads, black bread was plain and boring in comparison._

 _"But in the City-"_

 _"We do not live in the City, we live in Fliaan. Pastries and treats and sweeties are good while visiting Grandmama, but when we are home, we eat as our people eat. And what's good enough for our people is good enough for us."_

"Fabala." She looked up, meeting her husband's gaze. "You okay, sweetheart? You were staring at the bread as though it held all the answers to life's questions." Gently, Trism reached up, brushing his fingers over her forehead. "You sure you're okay?"

Slowly, she nodded, suddenly aware that everyone was staring at her. "I'm okay. Just... got lost in a memory."

"About _bread_?" Trot asked, confused.

"Black bread." Zor whispered, and slowly, Elphaba nodded. He remembered his father telling him that the former _Samraat_ often asked for his family to be allowed to bake black bread while under house arrest; to not keep such a Fliaanian staple from him and his family, for they were still Fliaanian, regardless of whether they ruled or not. They would always be Fliaanian- they were born Fliaanian, and they would die Fliaanian. "It's all you ate while under arrest, wasn't it?"

"When the guards allowed it." Elphaba replied, setting the piece on her plate. The children shared a glance, confused as to what their mother was talking about. "Fliaanians teeth on black bread; they subsist on it as they grow, they thrive on it as they move through adulthood, and it is often the last thing they eat before they die, as Papa always said." She swallowed. "It was the last thing we ate, that night-"

 _It was meager, tough, but hearty, as black bread should be. The girls shared two slices between the four of them, taking bites in turns, savoring the bitter taste- for lack of eggs within the batter often made the bread bitter, and slightly tough to chew. Shell at first refused his piece, before accepting it at Melena's soft urging, and those loyal four who chose to stay with the family ate their bread in silence. Frexpar chose to share his slice with his wife, and they sat together in silence, enjoying each other's company, for this unknown last meal._

 _"I wish we had a bit of butter, or goat's cheese."_

 _"Butter and cheese is a luxury not befitting former royals, Nessa." Sophelia whispered, wrapping an arm around her youngest sister's waist. The girls had gotten thin; exceedingly thin in the last several weeks? months? It was uncertain how long they had been under arrest; the days had blended together until it was uncertain whether it was still nineteen-eighteen, or if it had moved on, to nineteen-nineteen, nineteen-twenty. Had they really been under house arrest for a year? Two years? Or was it only a few short months? No one could be certain anymore._

 _"But we are just like other Fliaanians now."_

 _"Other Fliaanians are too poor to afford something as luxurious as butter or goat's cheese." Elia replied. "They blame Papa and Mama for the state of the country. But Mama and Papa did nothing wrong."_

 _She tore a piece off and popped it in her mouth, handing the rest to Raina before curling up in her chair and laying her head in her sister's lap. "I don't want any more."_

 _"Fabala, you have to eat. You're rail thin, darling."_

 _"So are you." She whispered, feeling Raina stroke her fingers through her hair._

 _"But you have been sick. You need the bread more than I do." She turned her head when her sister gently pushed it towards her lips, burying her face in Raina's skirt. "Fabala, please, eat. You need more than two bites in your belly."_

 _"I don't want any more. Please, Raina. No more bread."_

 _The older girl leaned down, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Okay, Fabala. No more bread."_

"I got sick that night, before bed. I'd been sick before that, but... it was as if the bread was rotten. We ate it anyway, because they gave us nothing else." She swallowed. "I never thought I would be able to _look_ at black bread again, let alone..." _Eat it._ After a moment, she pushed the bread away. "I would rather have _muskatka_ instead, if that's all right with everyone else. I don't know that I will ever be able to stomach black bread again, no matter how much of a staple it is in my country."

She turned as Trism took her hand, squeezing gently. "Shall we retire to the sitting room for coffee and dessert, then?" He asked, glancing at everyone. After a moment, Trot asked,

"What's... _muskatka_?"


	5. Chapter 5

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

 **A/N: So the first line of the 2nd chapter of _Bell Tolls_... kind of comes full circle. Remember, running through the halls in the white dresses was the first thing 'Fae' remembered? ****Written: 2006. Found: 2017- Licia**

A fire crackled in the grate in the fireplace in the sitting room, and as the adults fell into pleasant conversation, the children- all eleven, minus Zixi, who had curled up in her mother's lap- proceeded to play board games or color in front of the fire. Elphaba sat curled up by the window, a photo album in her lap, lost in thought.

"You miss them, don't you?"

She looked up to find Zor watching her, and after a moment, he took a seat beside her. "More than you could ever know."

"May I?" After a moment, she handed him the album, and he carefully flipped through it, a smile crossing his features as he stared at the images of the former royal family. Candid shots, goofy grins, awkward positions, they were all there, frozen in time. "I don't think my father cared to know that he was destroying a family. He only saw status, he didn't see a family."

"The people hated us. They threw things at us, tore things from our clothes, stole from us, called us horrible names... I didn't understand how a people that we loved so much... could hate us so much..." Tears glistened in her dark eyes, and after a moment, he reached up, catching them as they slid down her cheeks. " I still don't understand. Now... they love me as though... as though they don't remember who my parents were, who my siblings were... how can they just... turn like that?"

Zor shook his head. "I've been trying to figure that out my entire life."

* * *

"Should we be worried?" Locasta shook her head, patting Glinda's hand softly.

"Fabala and Zor are linked by a common tragedy. The revolution. It destroyed Elphaba's family, and it was Zor's father who pulled the trigger- literally and figuratively."

"He's trying." The two women turned to Trot; Trism and Partra looked up from their conversation. "He's trying so hard to fix what his father did. He knows it was wrong, he doesn't think like his father did. He doesn't think the royal family was evil. Just weak."

"They were a family, and they put that before their country. Everyone knows it. The rest of the houses abhorred it." Partra whispered.

"And Everic turned them away..." Locasta took a deep breath. "Had they come to _us_ , asked Traper and I... we would not have turned them away. We would have taken them in, _all_ of them, Frexpar, Melena, the servants, the children. We would have given them asylum. Fliaan was our strongest ally until the revolution; our families were to be linked through marriage," Trism ducked his head, knowing his mother spoke of his older brother. "so taking them in... it would not have been an issue. They should have come to us _first_. Frexpar _should have asked us first_ , instead of Everic." She sipped her coffee, letting the statement fall where it may.

"Daddy?" Trism looked up, to find Faola holding one of her mother's framed photos. "Who are they?"

He took the photograph, studying it silently, a tiny smile tugging at his lips. He remembered the day the photograph was taken well.

"That is your Aunt Sophelia, your Aunt Oziandra, and your Aunt Nessarose." He pointed to each girl in turn. "This is your..." He swallowed. "This is my older brother, your Uncle Fiyero." He felt Locasta tense. "And this... is Mama, and this is me." Faola's blue eyes widened as she looked from the photo to her father and back again.

"That's _really you_ , Daddy?"

He nodded. "Mhmm. When I was a little boy, a year or so older than Kió, Grandmama and Grandpapa took your uncle and I to visit Mama and her family. I'd never been to Fliaan before, so it was a grand adventure. Imagine my surprise when I discovered Grandpapa Frexpar and Grandmama Melena had only one son and _four_ little girls."

"Like you and Mama?" He chuckled, pulling the child onto his lap.

"Kind of. Only they didn't have eight children like Mama and I do. They only had five." He brushed the girl's bangs off her forehead. "We were allowed to skip tea, and we went outside to play. Your uncle and I had to hurry to keep up with them, they were very fast little girls." He looked up, meeting his wife's gaze; she and Zor had rejoined everyone, settling beside the fire. Everyone was listening now, engrossed in the story.

"You remember that, Tris?" Elphaba whispered, not needing to see the photograph her husband was holding to know what he was talking about. She scooped Ruli into her arms; the three-and-a-half-year-old curled against his mother's shoulder. His sandy hair was a mess, and she gently brushed a kiss to it, breathing in the familiar, heady scent only a parent could recognize.

Her husband nodded. "You wore white dresses, with black stockings, high buttoned boots and white bows in your hair. There were blue sashes around your waists, and..." He sighed, as the memory came flooding back to him. "And yours came undone." She raised an eyebrow, surprised he remembered such a tiny, forgettable detail. She remembered her sash coming undone, because once they'd gotten outside, Elia had insisted on tying it again, but for her _husband_ to remember...

"That was back in nineteen- _twelve_ , Tris. I was eight, you were seven. And you remember that... that my _sash_ came undone... twenty-seven years later... it doesn't seem possible..."

He shrugged. "It was the one thing I could focus on, after hearing that your family had... vanished. I kept... I kept picturing that little girl with the blue sash, untied and streaming out behind her... I knew Nessa wasn't coming back. I felt her soul die that night, but you... all I could focus on was that sash. And every time I thought of it, it got brighter and brighter, and then darker and darker, until it was the color of that room of yours upstairs..." She blushed, resting her cheek against her youngest son's head.

"For years, all I could picture was that sash and that dress and that bow in your hair." He shrugged. "I guess... it kept me alive; kept me from... giving up complete hope that your entire family was gone." He glanced back at the picture. "And... and when I heard the reports that you'd been found... that it was _my brother_ who had found you... all I wanted was to see you again. Because I _still remembered_ that _little girl_ in the _white_ dress and _blue_ sash. I was certain you wouldn't remember me. And when we were children, I had been in love with Nessa, but I'd developed a crush on you." Her blush got deeper. "A crush I hadn't been able to shake for _sixteen years_. I guess you could say I was like you; only it wasn't a soldier I was in love with, it was a _princess_."

Elphaba took a deep breath, sniffling softly, tears gathering in her eyes, as she brushed another kiss to her son's head. Trism turned his gaze to their daughter, brushing his fingers through her curls. "And now I'm the father of four little princesses of my own. I can't help wondering if your father was as proud of the four of you as I am of ours." He kissed Faola's curls, and the child curled into him, the sound of his voice relaxing her.

"Frexie loved his girls, so very much, all four of them." Partra replied, tears coming to her eyes as she turned to her granddaughter. Elphaba met her gaze, silent.

 _"Fabala, wait! I need to tie your sash! It's come undone, you could trip if it isn't tied again." She stopped, allowing Elia to tie it, and it was then that the brothers finally caught up with them. She glanced over her shoulder, catching the younger boy's gaze. A quick smile flashed across her face, and he smiled back, both unaware of how they would one day be reunited and forced together into a marriage that would become a love match._

Trism brushed a kiss to Faola's hair, turning his gaze back to the photograph. If he were honest with himself, _truly, completely_ honest, he could admit that that was the day he'd fallen in love. Not with Nessarose, but with her older sister; with Elphaba, the little girl with the untied sash.

 _They ran through the halls, laughing and giggling, their long dark hair flying out behind them. The white dresses they wore were light and airy, making them seem like fairies._


	6. Chapter 6

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

 **A/N:** **Written: 2006. Found: 2017- Licia**

Eventually, everyone retired for the night, and silence settled over the palace. After making sure the children were all tucked in their beds sound asleep, Elphaba and Trism slipped beneath their own covers. She removed the bobby pins from her hair, and without a word, Trism pulled her close, until she was settled between his legs; he worked his fingers gently through the loose curls, being careful to work the knots free. Once done with her hair, he wrapped his arms around her, pressing a kiss to her shoulder.

She leaned back against him with a sigh. "Tris?"

"Hmm?" He pressed a kiss to her head, fingers trailing down to caress her hip. He pressed another kiss to her head, and another, and another, until it made her giggle, and he gently pushed her forward, allowing himself access to her throat.

 _"Trism."_ She reached up, tangling a hand in his hair, eyes rolling back as he nipped at her ear.

"Yes, darling?" She groaned softly at his husky whisper, turning to meet his gaze.

"Pleasure me." He pulled away, studying her quickly. A moment passed, before he shook his head.

"No, Fabala." But she caught his chin, keeping eye contact.

"There are other ways, my love." She nuzzled her nose against his. "We don't always have to mate like wolves to achieve pleasure."

He was silent, studying her in that way she'd come to love. And then, after a moment, he scoffed, shaking his head. "You mean orally?" She nodded. "Fabala, you know that's-"

"Times have changed, my love. It's not our parents' era, and it's not the twenties. Things are more open now. It's not as taboo as it once was. Besides, it's fun- taking turns to give pleasure." She shifted, turning to face him as she settled on her knees. "I'd get to witness your reaction, just as you'd get to witness mine. Please, Tris." A moment passed, before he nodded, kissing her softly. "So who should go first?" She slowly began unbuttoning his shirt, dark eyes teasing. Once the shirt was off his frame, she leaned down, pressing a kiss to his collarbone before moving lower, fingers moving to caress his stomach, before moving to his pajama bottoms. Once free, she moved her fingers to the hem of his boxers, but he grabbed her wrist, meeting her gaze when she looked up, mid-kiss.

"Let me go first." She raised an eyebrow, but he slid his arms around her, helping her out of her pajama top before moving to help her out of her bottoms. Now clad only in her knickers, his slid his arms around her waist, pulling her closer as he kissed her. She slid her arms around his neck, delighting in the taste of his kiss-

A squeal of surprise escaped her throat, as he slid his hands down her waist to cradle her bottom, and in one swift move, he'd shifted her onto her back among the pillows. A giggle escaped her throat, and she pulled away, teeth tugging at her bottom lip as she met his eyes. "Trying to keep up with me? You _are_ a year younger, after all." She gently tapped his chest, laughing softly as he nudged his nose against hers.

"Not trying to keep up with you. It's _you_ trying to keep up with _me_." He replied, sliding his fingers slowly down her body and over her hip. She shook her head, opening her mouth to speak, when he slipped his fingers within the material between her thighs. She gasped softly, feeling him gently scrape a nail over the small bundle of nerves hidden within her folds.

"That's... not fair, Tris..." She breathed, feeling him slide her knickers off. They dropped to the floor by the bed, and she shifted, moaning softly as he slid a finger into her.

"I know it's not fair, my love. But it's so much fun." He kissed her deeply, before moving to kiss her throat, her shoulders; his tongue gently teased her nipples, teeth tugging gently on the sensitive buds before moving down to trail kisses along her ribs and down her stomach. She'd had eight children; she wasn't as thin as she'd been the day their marriage was announced, but it didn't matter. She was beautiful; though she often protested, Trism had to disagree- the light swell of her belly only reminded him of the eight little miracles that had been placed in their lives- especially after the loss of their first- and that his wife had borne them eight beautiful, relatively healthy children. He wouldn't ask her to change a thing.

He then brushed a kiss to the black curls, before gently parting her legs. She moaned softly, lifting her head from the pillows, meeting his gaze. His blue eyes- the eyes seven of their children inherited- sparked with mirth, and a smirk tugged at his lips. She shook her head, despite the fact that she desperately wanted him-

 _"Tris..."_

That soft, lust-filled moan was all it took, and he ducked down between her legs. Gently, he flicked his tongue along the inner edges of her folds; her breath caught, and she arched her back slightly. _If something as light as that gets that reaction..._ He did it again, hearing her nails scratch against the sheets as she curled her hands into them-

A soft knock on the locked bedroom door didn't get any notice at first.

And then it happened again.

And again.

And soon, it was followed by a very soft, small voice, "Mama? Daddy?"

* * *

Eventually, the door opened, and Trism poked his head out, once more back in his pajamas. Faola stood in the doorway, long black curls a mess. He sighed, kneeling down to meet her eye level. "What is it, little wolf? Hmm? It's late, and _you_ should be in bed."

She wrapped her arms around her father's neck. "I'm scared, Daddy."

"Scared of what, my pup?" He asked, slowly wrapping his arms around her. But she shook her head, and after a moment, he lifted her up, settling her on his hip. Despite being roughly seventy-eight pounds, Faola was thin, like her mother had been at that age. Trism knew that as she grew, hit puberty, and moved into adulthood, she would fill out, but still retain that thin, willowy figure- like her aunt Oziandra, or her mother, for despite having carried and given birth to eight children, Elphaba was still rather thin. Perhaps it was the months spent starving while under house arrest as a teenager, or the meager food she'd been fed at the orphanage that had taken her in, but either way, Elphaba still retained a fairly thin figure; at times, to the point where it would worry Trism.

She had gained weight during her pregnancies, but after each birth, it always vanished within weeks; most likely a side effect of having been near starved during her time in captivity with her family. It didn't help that she had been thin anyway, long before the revolution hit. And over the last fifteen years, her own willowy, slightly thin figure was still the talk of others in the royal houses- how the young empress and queen managed to stay so thin despite having birthed eight children-

Sighing, he slipped back into the room, shutting the door softly behind him. Elphaba looked up, hairbrush stopping mid-stroke. Returned to her pajamas, she perched on the edge of the bed, lost in thought. After a moment, however, she set the brush on her nightstand. "Trism? What's going on?"

"Something scared our little wolf, Fabala." He replied, setting the child on the bed before joining them. Instantly, his oldest crawled towards her mother, curling into her side.

"Like a nightmare?"

"She won't say. Or, at least she wouldn't tell me."

Elphaba glanced down at her daughter, who turned wide, frightened blue eyes up to her mother. "Did you have a nightmare?" A moment passed, before the girl nodded. "About what?" But the girl just shook her head, wrapping her arms around her mother's waist and burying her face in her mother's chest. Her parents shared a glance. For Faola to be clinging to them, unwilling to talk about it, meant it must have been bad. "Faola," Gently, Elphaba pulled away, meeting the girl's eyes. "You know that you can tell Daddy and I about it. You always can, we won't judge. We've both been there."

But the girl simply burrowed back into her mother's chest, wrapping her arms around her waist.

* * *

They had finally gotten Faola to return to her room around midnight, promising that if she needed to talk, she could always come wake them up. The next morning, the little girl slipped into her seat beside her mother, still refusing to say a word about her nightmare. Elphaba and Trism shared a glance before joining in the early morning chatter.

About midway through the meal, Cattery entered, hurrying to her mistress's side. She leaned down, whispering something in Elphaba's ear, and the young woman turned to her. All conversation stopped, and Trism reached over, taking his wife's hand. The maid nodded, and after a moment, she stood, excusing herself from the table. With a soft nod, Trism did the same, managing to catch his wife before she left the dining room. She turned back, meeting his gaze. A whole conversation passed between the couple, and after a moment, she turned back to the others. "Excuse us for a moment. There's something we need to take care of. We shouldn't be gone long."

And then, without another word, the pair left, eventually slipping into the waiting car.

* * *

"He can't do this, Tris. Demand a meeting, without any warning. He may be a king, but he is an _aging_ king, and he needs to realize that, and accept his place."

"Fabala." He grabbed her arm, turning her back to him. "Do not lose your temper in there."

"My temper? This is not about my temper, Tris. He needs to understand-"

 _"That's_ what I'm talking about." He cut her off, pulling her back to him as she turned to continue down the hallway towards the throne room of the Winter Palace. "That temper is going to get you into trouble if you aren't careful. You're hotheaded and stubborn as a black bear, and I wouldn't have you any other way, darling, but if you go in there as riled up as you are, it won't end well. _Please,_ Fabala. _Think_ before you open your mouth. Strategy and tactics, my love. Remember, this is all a Chess game. Think and observe and you can win." He reached up to caress her cheek, and she pressed a kiss to his palm.

" _Come with me._ He'll ask to speak to you anyway; he _refuses_ to acknowledge my role in ruling the Vinkus, you know that. Don't make me speak with him alone."

He nodded, kissing her knuckles. "Always, my queen."


	7. Chapter 7

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

 **A/N:** **Written: 2006. Found: 2017- Licia**

The older man turned as the doors to the throne room opened and his cousin entered.

 _Dressed all in white, a bow in her long, black hair, she was quieter than her sisters, more thoughtful._

The little girl was gone in the blink of an eye, replaced with a young woman in her early thirties. He still couldn't believe it, that only Elphaba had survived the slaughter of the royal family-

 _If you had given them asylum like Frexpar asked, they all would have survived, not just one child, but all five of them._

He shook the thought from his mind, making his way towards her and her husband. "Fabala, how you've grown." He took her hand, brushing a kiss to her knuckles. His gaze moved to the young king, and he held out a hand. "Trism. It's good to see you again."

"Likewise, Everic." Once they dropped hands, the young king folded his arms behind him, stepping back to give them space. He was nothing if not a gentleman, Everic noted.

"Why are you here, Cousin?" Elphaba asked, refusing to beat around the bush. He sighed, turning away from her to look around the room.

"I have a favor to ask, Elphaba."

The young empress raised an eyebrow in curiosity, though she knew exactly why he was here. "Oh? And what might that be?"

Another sigh, and then he turned back to her. "It's about Munchkinland." Her eyebrow rose higher. "They have been... tight on trade and have been wanting to expand their land... they wish to expand into Ev, to take land that belongs to Ev and her people. They wish to take my throne, and make it theirs." Both eyebrows rose now, and behind her, Trism cleared his throat, turning his back to hide the look of disgust currently residing on his face. "My intelligence community has discovered that they plan to attack- it's a declaration of war, and I need your help, Elphaba."

" _My_ help?" She scoffed gently, and Trism bit his lip, glancing quickly over his shoulder. "What I can possibly do?"

The old king began to wring his hands; an evident sign that he was starting to lose his grip on reality. "You can come to Ev's defense when Munchkinland attacks. We are blood after all. Family."

She slowly lifted her head, two words ringing loud in her head. _Blood. Family._ "Blood? You believe that blood justifies automatic help?"

Her husband cleared his throat, the warning subtle. _Temper, Fabala._

"It's required. Fliaan is Ev's strongest ally. When Munchkinland attacks, our only option is to wipe them from existence. Munchkinland is a menace, and must be destroyed."

" _Destroyed?_ That's awful harsh, coming from someone who allowed almost an entire family to be destroyed."

Trism cleared his throat again, louder this time _. Temper, Fabala, temper. Think, remember?_

"Your father, Unnamed God rest his soul, wanted my throne, and he would have gotten it any way he could- even if it meant putting one of you on it."

She shook her head, voice calm. "No, Cousin, he didn't. Papa simply wanted safety for us. He wanted to get out of Fliaan alive, so that we might have a chance to grow up, so that he and Mama might have had a chance to grow old. He didn't care about your _throne._ He _willingly_ gave up his own. He didn't want a throne, he simply wanted to _live_."

Everic shook his head, wringing his hands harder. "No, that's not true and you know it. He wanted my throne. But that's besides the point; when Ev goes to war with Munchkinland, you _must_ make sure that Fliaan- and the Vinkus," Everic turned to Trism, who tensed, glancing over his shoulder. "comes to her defense. Blood is thicker than water, Elphaba. We must stick together."

She shook her head, stepping towards him. "That's where you're wrong, Everic. Blood is not thicker than water. You _proved_ that, when you turned my family away back in nineteen-eighteen." Trism watched in silence, keeping close tabs on her words. "All Papa wanted was safety for us, and you instead signed our _death warrants_." She met his gaze, lifting her chin and straightening her back. "You play the _blood_ card now, and expect that I will agree, because we are tied by family. Well I hate to break it to you, but you are wrong, Cousin. Fliaan will _never_ come to your defense. And by extension, neither will the Vinkus." She watched something pass within his eyes. "Munchkinland will not go to war with Ev. They _don't want_ war; I know that for a _fact_ , I've spoken with the Governor and his wife, both Trism and I have. They want to be left in peace. The one who wants war is _you_. You want to expand your land and harm a people who have done nothing to you except share a _border_."

"No, Elphaba, you're wrong. The Governor is playing you. He wants war, he wants to take over-"

"No, Everic," She whispered, shaking her head softly. " _You_ are playing with me. _You_ want war. _You_ want their land. They don't want yours. And Fliaan and the Vinkus will not side with you in a war no one wants. I will not back the _murderer_ of _my family,_ and neither will the Vinkus. Trism and I will make sure of it. You will not drag our countries into this _sick_ , twisted game of yours. We are stronger rulers than you _ever were_ , Cousin. We understand the value of life, of peace, and that blood does not define how you run your country and take care of your people. We will not side with you. We will not be pawns in this aging king's game. You are _weak_ , and outside of reality and grasping _at straws_ because you believe blood means that you are immune to consequences. Or your _conscience_. But you _aren't_ , and it's been weighing on you for years." She shook her head. "Sad, really. You could be remembered as a great ruler, but instead you will simply be remembered as _mad_." She met his gaze again, sighing softly, reaching up to caress his cheek. "Poor Cousin Everic, once so strong, and now so weak. Driven mad, but not by grief."

He shoved her away. " _No!_ You _will_ side with Ev in war! _I will make sure of it, you pretend empress! You imposter bitch!_ " Trism rushed forward, but he was unable to stop the aging king from not only shoving his wife and pulling her hair- hard- but slapping her. She stumbled back, into her husband's arms, looking up at the older man in shocked horror, holding her cheek. When she spoke next, her voice was calm, but tinged with warning.

"I will not allow Fliaan to side with you. My _husband and I_ , will not allow the Vinkus to side with you. And if you even _dare_ to attack Munchkinland, even if it's so much as minor in scale," She locked eyes with him, making sure he was listening. "consider it a declaration of war."


	8. Chapter 8

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

 **A/N:** **Written: 2006. Found: 2017- Licia**

"Trism, I'm _fine_."

" _Fine?_ Fabala, _he hurt you!_ "

"Not badly. Now will you _please_ put me down? I'm perfectly capable of walking."

He shifted his hold on her, but didn't set her down. Locasta and Partra were the first at the doorway of the sitting room, but they stopped as Trism entered, Elphaba in his arms. "I know you are, love. But after how he put his hands on you, I'm not inclined to release you."

The former queen and empress shared a glance. "Trism, _what happened_?" He glanced at his mother, as he set Elphaba gently on the sofa and then knelt beside her. A moment passed, before he gently tilted her head back, brushing his thumb against her cheek; she hissed, and it was suddenly evident- or, partially at least. _"Oh, Fabala!"_

There was a good-sized, red palm print across her cheek; a minor cut along the curve of her eye, blood was staining the emerald diamonds her husband loved so, and her hair- that had been up in a simple twist before they left breakfast- was now down around her shoulders. _"Cattery!"_

"Yes, Your Majesty?"

Everyone turned to the doorway, and Trism met her gaze. "Fetch Doctor Dillamond, please."

"No, Tris, that's not-"

"Fabala, did you _notice_ his fingers? How long his nails had gotten? No, I won't risk it. Dillamond, please, Cattery. Thank you." Without another word, the maid left to do as told.

"Trism, what happened?" Locasta asked, joining her son and daughter-in-law. Partra watched, biting her lip with worry. Trot and Zor shared a glance, before,

"You met with King Everic, didn't you?" The young king glanced at the Governor, and Zor saw that he'd sadly, hit the nail on the head.

"Things got heated-"

"They didn't get _heated_ , Trism." She had the decency to look sheepish at his glare. "Okay, maybe a little."

"A _little_? Fabala, you argued with him-"

"I kept my temper, Tris, like I promised. I didn't raise my voice-"

"You informed him that Fliaan will not side-"

"He _played_ the _blood_ card, like I _knew_ he-"

"You mocked him. Even our _children_ know _not_ to do _that!_ "

"I didn't _mock_ -"

"Oh _come on_ , Fabala, that little rhyme? Something my brother or your little sister would do, not you. I wouldn't say downright cruel, but it was _harsh_."

"Rhyme?" Partra asked, joining them. Trism sighed, and Elphaba spoke up.

"'Poor... Cousin Everic, once so strong, and now... so weak. Driven mad, but... not by grief.'" The empress had the decency to look ashamed, and she ducked her head, fingers gently cradling her cheek.

 _"Oh,_ _Fabala._ Melena did not raise you to be cruel." Partra shook her head. Trism turned, hearing Faola begin to mutter her mother's poem under her breath.

" _Don't you start_ , Faolána Sophelie." The child stopped at her father's tone.

"He has gone off the rails, Locasta." Elphaba whispered, meeting her mother-in-law's gaze.

"Shoved her, yanked her hair and slapped her." Trism whispered, and Locasta shook her head as her son gently tilted his wife's head to the side to study the cut. Eventually, Cattery returned with Dillamond, who immediately set to work. The others backed up, watching in silence, and Trism crossed his arms, covering his mouth with his hand; it was evident the thoughts racing through his head. Elphaba winced as Dillamond gently cleaned the cut.

"I'm sorry, Your Majesty." She waved it away.

A moment passed, before Trism turned away. He paced silently back and forth, a thousand possibilities rushing through his head. _"The Unnamed God damn him!"_ He lost his temper, lashing out at a bookcase, and Elphaba turned.

"And you are worried about _my_ temper?" He turned back to her, running his hands through his hair. "Either way, our children are screwed. Our tempers _combined_ -"

"It's _not funny, Fabala_." A moment passed before he slowly released a breath. "He could have _seriously hurt_ you."

"But he _didn't_. Just a cut, a bruise that will fade with time, and my head is a little sore, but he didn't hurt me, not badly."

"How can you be _so calm about this_?"

"How can you be so upset?" She countered innocently, wincing slightly as Dillamond continued working.

"You didn't watch him..." He took a deep breath, feeling his wife's eyes on him, knowing that she wasn't questioning, wasn't accusing or attacking, simply curious. But he couldn't think- _"Agh!"_ Without a word, he moved past everyone, leaving the sitting room. Glinda stood to go after him, but Elphaba reached out, laying a hand on her cousin's arm.

"Leave him. Leave him alone, let him cool off. He'll be back once he's calmed down." She glanced at Locasta. "I learned early on that my darling husband overthinks. It's best to leave him alone so he can get his thoughts in order."

"Trism always thought too much, and Fiyero too little. My son is hotheaded, stubborn as a Vinkun black bear, and when he's worried... there's no getting through to him. He has to reach that conclusion on his own. Trying to reason will do no good, it will-"

"Only lead to an argument." Elphaba finished, and Locasta nodded.

"My son should not have been king. He's too brilliant for the games politics play. Given the chance, he'd best them all in a moment. He wanted to be a scientist, not a king." The empress took her mother-in-law's hand.

"My husband is a _good_ king; I couldn't have asked for a better ruler by my side."

Silently, Zor stood, excusing himself. Elphaba nodded as he passed. Once out of the sitting room, he headed through the palace, to the back entrance. It didn't take long, to find Trism walking through the gardens.

* * *

"You certainly share similar traits with your wife, Your Majesty." The young king looked up from studying the climbing roses working their way over the small gazebo as Zor made his way towards him. "Are you sure you aren't long-lost twins?" Trism shook his head as Zor grinned, returning to studying the flowers.

"I love her, but sometimes I think Nessa's personality rubbed off on her a little too much. She aggravated him today- not just by what she said, but by being there, by-"

"Being... female?" Zor offered, and Trism met his gaze.

"Everic is... old-fashioned. He only believes a woman's word to hold value if her husband speaks first. Seen and not heard. But Elphaba... she grew up that way, speaking when spoken too, watching without partaking... she's a modern woman, my Fabala. She's not going to sit back and work on needlepoint while the men discuss trade routes or business imports; she's going to be right in the middle of the conversation, giving her input. I know what the other royal houses say about her; she ignores the whispers, but I hear them. I listen. And many of them believe her inadequate to rule Fliaan-"

"I thought Fliaan became a Parliament after the revolution."

"They did, but every decision has to be approved by Elphaba." Zor nodded in understanding. "They believe she's only good as a... 'pretty bauble' in the Vinkus; as queen, her worth is... worthless, really, in the eyes of the rest of the houses. Not long after Ryn was born, she asked for her share of power in ruling the Vinkus. She had power, but not much; it was her choosing, and with the children being born as close as they were... I don't blame her. By the time Ryn was born, we'd _finally_ gotten somewhat of a handle on the disease the boys suffer from, and things had settled down for our family- as much they can for us. She came to me one night after putting the baby to bed after a feeding and asked for an equal share of power. Started to list the reasons and all I asked was, 'Why didn't you come to me sooner?' All she did was stare at me; she'd never thought to." He shook his head, absentmindedly kicking the dirt at his feet.

"You share responsibility."

"We always have. When running the Vinkus, Fabala and I know nothing else. We discuss everything, every treaty, bill and declaration that crosses my desk. Every alliance is questioned and heavily considered before being agreed upon. War is nonnegotiable. We strive for peace, but only after all is exhausted, we will make that decision together. The well-being of our _country_ and _our people_ depends on us working together as a team. There's no room for failure or miscommunication. To miscommunicate or fail would be to put our entire country into harm's way." He sighed. "Fabala and I are not weak rulers; we are not her parents. We rule together, fairly, equally."

"And Fliaan?"

He chuckled softly. "Fliaan is Fabala's domain. She asks for my input, but ultimately it is her decision. If Parliament presents her with a law, she will go over every aspect, weigh both pros and cons, ask for my input, and only after all t's have been crossed and i's dotted, _then_ she will make a decision, and inform Parliament. Parliament does what she says. If it's not good for the people, she won't give her consent. She'll make them rework it until it's where she wants it. She puts the people first, as her parents _should have_ , as mine _did_. Fabala... her whole drive is to _not repeat her parents' mistakes_. She is different to Frexpar and Melena- she's not weak. Her parents, Unnamed God rest their souls, were weak; they put their family and that... disease before their people. It's no wonder they suffered as they did, but even so, they didn't deserve what they received. No one does."

Zor studied Trism in silence.

This... young man, this... young _king_ , who had quickly become his friend and ally, carried so much of the world on his shoulders. This young prince, who had been handed the throne at the tender, _tender_ age of twenty-four... it was clear Trism knew nothing else but the workings of the court and countries. Had he ever had a chance to be a child, to run around and play without worrying that war might break out, or if the people were out of work or hungry? It was evident that his mother cared and loved him deeply, but had she ever worried for her son's sanity? Had she ever allowed him to be a _child_?

"Twenty-four is awfully young to take the throne, of any kingdom or country."

Trism met his gaze. "Rulers have taken it at a lot younger ages than I was. Fabala and I... we were not exactly ill-equipped. I know the Vinkus and her people, and she learned, quickly. We are doing okay. It's mainly the other houses that have a problem with my wife, not our countries, not our people. She's young, and capable, and smart, and has learned from and accepted the past, and _that_ is what the other houses have a problem with. She's _seen_ the writing on the wall, she's faced the firing squad- literally- and she doesn't want to read it again. So she's doing everything she can to prevent history from repeating itself, and that's what others like Everic hate about her. They're old monarchists- they believe that the old way is the right way, and they don't care to learn from what history has to teach us."

"So what is Elphaba?"

"She's a monarchist, but of the newer generation. The younger generations are slowly starting to wake up, and realize that if they don't stop and think, and _fix_ the problems, then they could very well end up like the Fliaanian royal family did twenty-one years ago."

"If the massacre of Elphaba's family taught us anything, it was that you need to listen to the people."

The king nodded. "They're an example that needs to be taken seriously. If you fail to listen to the people, the people will push back, even if it's only a few. A few can do a lot of damage in a short period of time. Fabala realizes that. The others are starting to. And then you have men like Everic, who refuse to."

"Who will win out? This is a game, after all, you said it yourself, Trism."

Trism chuckled softly. "It's not about winning, not entirely. It's about _changing_. Thinking, observing and strategizing. That's all it is. That's how you win. And... as for this?" He shoved his hands into his pockets, rocking back on his heels with a sigh. _"Honestly?"_ He thought about it a moment, screwing up his mouth. "He made the wrong move, striking my wife today. If he thinks he accomplished anything, he's right. He _pissed_ her off. She doesn't take lightly to being told what to do or being talked down to like a child."

Zor chuckled softly. "She certainly didn't seem too upset with you today, and you were-"

"She knows that I mean well. I don't do it to be pushy, I do it to protect her. She's the most precious thing in my world, and she knows it." They settled in silence, before Trism glanced back towards the palace. He wrinkled his nose. "Everic is going to learn the hard way. You don't _piss my wife off_ and expect to escape unscathed. He's going to pay, and Fabala will make sure it's slow and painful, like the slaughter in that basement was that night. And the fact that it's _Everic_ , the man who turned her family away, who took away their chance at safety, means Elphaba is going to make sure his torture lasts."

"You think it's payback?"

"I think on some unconscious level, it's payback. 'You could have helped my family, but you chose not to. And now you expect my help; you chose not to help me when I needed it the most, and so I'm choosing the same.' It's not vindictive, not in any way, shape or form, it's just how she views it. He refused to help her family at their lowest point, so why should she help Everic at his lowest? Fabala is nothing if not loyal to her family, but if family crosses family-"

"Then it's war?" He nodded, chuckling softly.

"And Fabala's been wanting this war for _years_. From the moment she found out that Everic is _basically_ the reason her family ended up in the House of Special Purpose in the _first_ place. War between Munchkinland and Ev?" The king shrugged, wrinkling his nose. "It's a possibility. A heavy possibility if Everic does what he _thinks_ you're going to do." Zor nodded; Elphaba had filled him in not long after returning. "But war between _Elphaba_ and _Everic_?" He thought a moment. "Let's just say, if I were a betting man, I'd put money on that breaking out in... four to six months, give or take. Depending on who moves first, and I know for a _fact_ that Fabala won't make the first move. She's cunning; she's had to be to survive. There's _no way in Hell_ that woman will make the first move; she'll wait, and she'll wait however long it takes. If it takes twenty years, she'll wait twenty years. If it takes two weeks, she'll wait two weeks. She won't move first. She'll wait for him to make the first move, and once his back is turned, she'll strike. And it'll be hard, and fast, and," He glanced skyward, thinking. "most likely fatal. And I will stand back and let her have at it; I won't get involved unless she asks. This is her war, not mine. Fabala doesn't play games, not when it comes to her family."

"Yeah, I... I remember." Trism chuckled. He remembered the day Zor and Elphaba had met, the lashing she'd given the young- then- newly appointed Governor. That had been mild, compared to what she would do to Everic.

"Tame, compared to now." He replied. "Mind you, she was also four months pregnant with our second child at time, which made it worse. I learned real quick to keep my thoughts to myself when her hormones were out of control. Given that they were basically out of control for eight straight years in a row..." He shrugged. "But what you received was minor. Barely a blip on the radar. And she acknowledges now that she treated you perhaps too harshly the day you met. She told me last night after we put the kids to bed that she would not trade this friendship for anything."

"Except her family?"

"You'll have to ask her on that one." The two men chuckled, before settling back into silence as they started back towards the palace. "But seriously, Zor. This friendship is... refreshing. You aren't tied to the... bullshit politics like the houses are. You aren't tied to the houses at all, because you share _no blood_ with them. With _any_ of them. It's nice, having an outsider join the ranks. Not that you're an outsider-"

"No, Trism, I fully admit that I am, both Trot and I are. This... this world of yours is so... far removed from the world I grew up in and knew... and _know_ that... it gets a little overwhelming at times, all the customs and rules and regulations."

"You should join us for lunch one afternoon, when all the families are there."

"Families?"

He nodded. "Once a month, the royal houses get together for lunch at the Fliaanian Winter Palace. Ix, Ev, the Rose Garden, all of them. It's very much tradition and customs and _old rules_ and regulations. Started back in the early eighteen-hundreds, I believe, by Ozma, Elphaba's great-great-great-great-grandmother, I believe- not long after her children married and went their separate ways; it was a way for her to see her children again, without all the formality of official visits and meetings. And it... has continued on since; power's shifted, marriages have taken place, children been born, old and young alike have died, dynasties have fallen and started... but the dynamic remains the same. It's to see everyone and catch up. No one really talks politics, unless they just can't stand to keep their mouth shut, and usually, by the end of it- if everything has gone well and a bomb hasn't gone off at some point during the meal- it's just a... a family reunion of sorts."

"Have you ever stayed to the end?"

"When I was younger, my family would, but Fabala and I... well, at one point, I was convinced she kept getting pregnant simply so she wouldn't have to attend, or could duck out early; jealousy runs rampant, and the fact that my wife is the most powerful woman in this... sprawling, interconnected, intermarried family tree... and some don't hesitate to say it to her face. She's respected, but it's respect with a grain of salt. They view her as weak, and too 'emotionally fragile' to rule, utter bullshit, and they all know it. But that doesn't mean they won't stop whispering behind their hands." He turned to the Governor. "There's a luncheon tomorrow at the Winter Palace. Why don't you, Trot and the children come with us?"

"Ah... are you sure that would be... wise?"

He shrugged. "It would be nice to have someone who isn't connected to the family in any way there. Fresh eyes and everything."

"'The family.' It sounds like the Munchkin mafia."

The young king chuckled. "It might as well be, the way the houses work." He stopped, turning to Zor. "Come with us tomorrow. I know it would make Fabala feel better to have someone there who has no connection what so ever with the royal houses. And if at any point, you would rather return to Colwen Grounds, we can leave."

A moment passed in silence, before slowly, Zor nodded. "All right. It might do us good; they could very well be Munchkinland's enemies or allies one day."

"Everic is already your enemy. You may not have to deal with him, though. Fabala will get to him first."


	9. Chapter 9

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

 **A/N:** **Written: 2006. Found: 2017- Licia**

"I'm so nervous. What if they don't like us?"

"They don't like many people," Elphaba replied, glancing at Trot. The First Lady had been ecstatic when offered a chance to attend lunch with the others in the royal houses- more than her husband. A common girl, from a common family, married to a young Governor, she would finally get to meet many of the people she read about in the papers. The young empress had lent Trot a very pretty, maroon-colored dress for the occasion, and had helped her put her hair back in curls. "But they're excellent at hiding it."

Trot glanced at Elphaba, who stood whispering softly with Trism. She'd watched Elphaba select the knee-length, red dress with the slightly puffed sleeves and the wraparound top. The simple bow that tied at the waist hung down her side, and the v-neck caused by the wraparound accented her small bust. She wore her hair up in a twist, a simple clip holding it up, and a pair of pearl drops hung from her ears, the matching necklace around her neck. The dark blue coat she wore hung open on her small frame, and she wore black heels with black stockings. Dark blue gloves were on her hands, and she fiddled with the clutch that hid her candy-box camera.

The children- all twelve- were all dressed in their nicest, as was custom, and Faola, Chiss, and Tip kept a close eye on their siblings. Trot's gaze landed on Faola; the oldest princess leaned against her father; without missing a beat of their conversation, Trism reached down, stroking his fingers through his oldest daughter's hair. She too was dressed in a red dress with black shoes and stockings, like her mother; her long black hair was pulled back and held with a white bow- one of her mother's ribbons, Elphaba had told Trot when she asked about it. Unlike her mother, who chose to keep her camera hidden, Faola held tightly to hers, staring up at her mother with wide, blue eyes. Childish laughter caused Trism to glance over his wife's shoulder.

"Chiss! That's enough." He beckoned the boy over, and slowly, the child came. Without a word, he leaned against his mother, taking her hand. Elphaba turned her gaze to her oldest son, and slowly, she knelt down.

"You must be careful, darling. You and your brothers, all of you. We can't let them know. Okay?" The boy nodded, wrapping his arms around her neck, and she kissed his head.

* * *

Trot had never seen so many people of the same rank in one room in her entire life. She watched in silent awe as those already seated got to their feet, bowing or curtsying as Elphaba entered on Trism's arm. Once everyone straightened, Elphaba and Trism moved to take their places near Partra, who sat at the head of the table. The children took their places as well, but Trot hung back. Glinda rested a hand on her shoulder. "What do I do?"

The blonde smiled softly at her. "Have a seat."

"Where?"

"By your husband of course." She nodded to Zor, seated beside Trism. When Elphaba had asked Partra if it would be all right if Zor and his family joined them, Partra had, frankly, been relieved. It was high time the rest of the houses understood that they were not the only ones in this game, that Governors and Parliaments deserved the same respect as other royal houses. After a moment, Glinda moved to take her seat, several places down from Elphaba and her family, and after a moment, Trot moved to do the same, feeling every pair of eyes on her as she went. Partra gave her a small smile once she was seated.

After much tense silence, lunch began, and eventually, conversation slowly began to float up from various places at the table. Trot began to relax, finding herself in a pleasant conversation with the Queen of the Rose Garden, Arduenna, if she remembered right, until a voice spoke.

"I think it's sweet, that you are playing charity to the Munchkinland Governor and his family, Cousin. Just like Uncle Frexpar did when he invited the Governor of Quadling Country to visit back in nineteen-oh-eight. Just like _your parents_ , you have a soft spot for those who _don't belong_. Remember, Fabala?"

The knife and fork clattered to the plate, and all conversation stopped. The young empress leaned forward, meeting her cousin's eye at the other end of the table. "Why don't you mind your own business, Iskinaary? Governor Diggs and his wife are _lovely people_ , and if you bothered to actually _talk to them_ , you would understand that." She ignored Trism's squeezing her thigh firmly to get her to check her temper. "But then again, you're so fixated on marrying Grimalkin, that you don't even understand that he is _not interested_. Sorry, Grim." The royal in question raised his hands surrender, shooting her a look that clearly said, I fully agree with you. "You have your head buried so far up Grim's a-"

A hand slapped firmly across her mouth, stopping the tirade, and after a moment, Trism leaned close, lips brushing gently against the shell of her ear. " _Temper_ , Fabala. _Not_ here, _not_ now, _not_ in front of the _children_." Taking a deep breath, she rolled her eyes. "Now are you going to behave?" Slowly, she nodded. After several minutes, he finally lowered his hand, watching his wife, and she forced a smile his way before turning back to her cousin.

"At least I'm not an aging lady desperate for the attention I never got from my parents- all because daddy was too busy screwing his ballerina mistress to notice his marriage falling apart."

" _Fabala!_ I said _behave!_ "

Ryn looked around silently, before turning to Locasta. "Grandmama, what does screw mean?" And Locasta just shook her head.

"Don't worry about it, darling. You don't need to know."

"Oh, _shut up,_ Trism!"

The table seemed to erupt in conversation from all sides, as the subject of fixations, divorce, marriage and taking a mistress became the hot debate of the hour. Partra turned a stern look to her granddaughter, who had the decency to look ashamed and whisper an apology. She turned as Trism reached down, sliding the same hand he'd used to try to silence her earlier, back over her thigh. The squeeze he gently gave the inside of her thigh was firm, and she briefly caught his eye.

"I know, I know. I'm sorry. She just... makes me so... _mad_."

"Then _don't respond._ " He whispered, meeting her gaze. She huffed.

"Personally, I think arranged marriages should be completely brought back. It's keeps the common blood out, and the bloodlines pure." Elphaba's ears perked up, and she leaned forward, looking around her husband to meet Lenx's gaze.

"You can't be _serious_ , Lenx." Now married to a former princess of the Rose Garden, Lenx was the father of two; his oldest son had shown interest in Faola, and Lenx had suggested a couple years ago that a betrothal be made, but the young couple had refused; Faola was still a child, a little girl. Neither Trism nor Elphaba were going to force their daughter into a marriage she didn't want, and definitely not as a child. "You would rather marry someone your family _chose_ , than marry someone of _your_ choosing. Someone you love."

"Why not, Elphaba? Your parents did, your grandparents did, we _all_ did at some point, those of us that have married." Arduenna and Glinda shared an embarrassed glance with Grim. "Royal blood keeps the houses _clean_." She bristled, and Trism squeezed her thigh in reassurance. "We don't contaminate them with blood from the _common man_. And as for love- there's no _such thing_ as love in a royal marriage, Fabala dear." He replied, meeting her gaze. "Royal marriages are for _one thing_ , and _one thing only_ \- creating alliances and continuing the line. You should know that, your marriage has done both- once eight times over." He glanced at the children, picking up his wine glass.

"Leave our children out of this, Lenx." Trism warned, as his wife grabbed her own glass and took a sip. "And for that matter," The king turned, meeting the prince's gaze. "Don't you know a love match when you see one?"

Lenx raised an eyebrow. "A love match?"

Elphaba giggled, sipping her wine. "I don't think he's ever heard the term, darling." She whispered, meeting Trism's gaze, "He doesn't know what love is, after all."

"Fabala, shh." He gently squeezed her thigh, glancing at Lenx out of the corner of his eye. "I do think you're right, though."

"Fabala, that's not nice." Glinda replied, meeting Grimalkin's eye, but he shrugged.

"I agree with Elphaba." My brother doesn't know what it's like to be in love. He only knows to do what he's told. I always determined that I was going to marry for love, when I finally did find the right girl." He and Glinda locked eyes, sharing a blush, and Elphaba glanced at her husband.

"Please, tell me, Lenx, exactly why are you so against the common man? Zor and his wife are what you consider 'common' and yet, they govern Munchkinland. Our _entire line_ \- every single one of our families- was started by a 'common man' who rose to power. So by saying you are against common marriages, you're essentially saying that you're against our very ancestors."

"That's not what I'm saying, Elphaba."

"Then what _are_ you saying?"

He stood, leaning across the table towards her. "Royal blood should not mix with common. It's not clean, nor proper."

"This isn't exactly an age of propriety anymore, Lenx. We grew up in that age; that time's past." She replied, setting her glass down and crossing her arms in front of her.

"Mixing blood in marriage would be like mixing a fraudulent _mystic_ with the royal family, and allowing that person to take control and run the country from backstage, _behind the curtain_." All other conversation stopped and silence fell. Faola glanced between Lenx and her mother, before turning to her father. Despite the years that had passed since the revolution, any mention of her parents and the strange affair that was their relationship with Yackle was still an exceedingly tender subject with Elphaba. She hated being referred to as the 'surviving daughter', the 'one that escaped', the 'one that got away', and tried her hardest to distance herself from her family's bloody legacy.

Slowly, she stood, leaning over the table to meet his gaze. "How _dare_ you. You talk of keeping the blood clean- maybe you should _think_ , before you support something that only does more damage than it helps. Maybe some common blood in this _goddamned maze of a family tree_ would be a _good_ thing! The blood that isn't clean is _ours_. It's not _clean_ , and it never will be unless we allow some form of commonality into this... _disgusting_ bloodline." She glanced around at everyone. "We don't know the sickness our blood actually causes, the diseases we spread." She glanced at her children, cursed with her blood long before any of them had even been conceived; the disease her brother nearly died from. "The illnesses our children suffer from. It's not from common blood, it's from _our blood_! _Ours!_ " She turned back to Lenx. "And you just want to continue it. With no thought to your children or anyone else's."

Several people shared glances, realizing she was right. "Then what do you suggest, Cousin? That we stop marrying all together? That we allow the lines to dry up and die off?"

"I'm saying _stop marrying into each other,_ allow some... some _fresh blood_ into the tree. If not with our generations, then maybe the ones after." She glanced at her children, before turning to meet Partra's gaze; the dowager nodded softly, a smile on her face.

 _Well said, my darling. Frexpar and Melena would be proud._

"May I... say something?" Everyone turned to Trot, who'd sat listening, lip between her teeth.

"The _common blood_ would like to address _royalty_?" Lenx mocked, holding out his hands in a mocking bow as Elphaba rolled her eyes.

 _"Shove it, Lenx!"_ Trism snapped, as Elphaba returned to her seat. She picked up her fork, returning her focus to the food on her plate, feeling her husband slip his hand over her thigh again and squeeze gently. _Good girl, I'm proud of you._ "Go on, Trot."

She smiled softly, meeting the king's gaze, before turning to Partra and the others. "I... I was raised in Nest Hardings. My father was a banker and my mother a milliner. We lived comfortably; there were times when things were tight, but we always got through it. We did well. And after my father died, my mother opened an orphanage. I'd gone to live with family in Nest Hardings by then. I... I know that... that my husband and I don't come from... from the wealth and standing that all of you do... but we've seen monarchies fall," Elphaba lowered her head. "And we've seen monarchies start." Trism glanced at his mother. "And... why should it matter, where the blood comes from? If the couple loves each other?" She turned back to her hosts. "Trism and Elphaba love each other- truly, deeply love each other. She spent ten years in an orphanage in Munchkinland- my mother's orphanage-"

Elphaba's head snapped up, and she leaned around her husband. "And I remember my mother telling me about the girl who'd shown up on her doorstep with the strange green diamonds tattooed on her pale skin. I didn't know that she was a princess. I met her once, not long after she arrived, and she was so quiet, that I knew something traumatic had happened, but I didn't know what. I just knew that she was so pretty, and so sad, and that something horrible must have happened to force her to leave her country, whatever her country was, for her to end up in Munchkinland."

Elphaba glanced at Partra, who shook her head, just as surprised by the revelation. "And then we met them and... she's wonderful. And Trism... he really, truly loves her. He treats her like a queen, when they aren't in public. And they love their children; they're a love match more than anyone I think I've ever seen. When they got back from their meeting with the Evian king yesterday, Trism carried her into the palace- he physically carried her. I guess the king got violent and hurt her after the meeting ended; she seemed fine to walk to me, but he wouldn't put her down until he got to the sofa."

Trism leaned towards his wife, whispering something to her, and she blushed, meeting his gaze. After a moment, they shared a soft kiss, clasping hands under the table. "They _really, really_ love each other. It may have started as an arranged marriage, but now it's a love match. What's so wrong with a love match? All of this.. marrying because you have to... that's fine and all, but why not marry for love?"


	10. Chapter 10

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

 **A/N:** **Written: 2006. Found: 2017- Licia**

"Marry for love? That's _preposterous!_ "

"Oh, honey, you know nothing of _real_ marriage, _do you_?"

"Why marry for love? Love doesn't exist, it never has, it never will."

"You're clearly living in a fantasy, if you think a marriage is based on love."

"Love? That's ridiculous! Who ever heard of _marrying_ for _love?_ "

"Marriages are meant to strengthen alliances, that's all. You throw love into it and then everything becomes a gigantic mess."

"Love has nothing to do with marriage or childbearing. Marriage is simply meant to secure political alliances, nothing more, nothing less-"

"How could you say that? _You married for love!_ "

"I married because it was what was expected of me! Just like you two did. It's the same with children- children _must_ be born to secure and continue the line-"

"So you don't _actually_ like being a father? Because I _love_ being a father; it's the best thing that ever happened-"

 _"Quiet! All of you!"_

Silence fell, and every head turned towards Partra; Trot sat with her hands over her ears, suddenly wishing she'd kept her mouth shut in regards to the whole affair. After a moment, Faola, who'd spent the entire time watching and listening to the ensuing argument, turned those big blue eyes of her father's to her great-grandmother. "What's wrong with love? Mama and Daddy love each other, does that mean they're bad?"

"No, sweetheart." Partra replied, reaching out to pat her hand. "Mama and Daddy aren't bad; they're just... a special case."

Her parents shared a glance, and after a moment, Elphaba reached across the table, taking her daughter's hand. "Daddy and I didn't love each other at first, Faola. But we grew too. And having you helped."

"Really?"

Trism nodded, sliding an arm around his wife's waist and pulling her close. "We love each other very, very much. Just like both your grandparents did." He glanced at Locasta, who brushed a tear off her cheek, thoughts of Traper filling her head.

"Grandmama Melena and Grandpapa Frexpar?" Elphaba nodded, silent.

"Those two let their love _destroy_ an empire." Every head turned as Everic entered, Avaric and Nastoya behind him. "I'm sorry we're late, Partra. Mother." Sarima nodded, silent, as the three stragglers joined the table. Avaric caught Elphaba's eye as he slid into his seat across from Trot, and mouthed an apology. She smiled softly at him. "Frexpar was weak; he was a weak ruler, and a weak man, and he allowed himself to be controlled by that Emerald City _bitch_." Elphaba tensed, digging her nails into Trism's thigh. "Had he married Locasta, like he was supposed to, he would have been a fine ruler."

Trism glanced at his wife, before turning to his mother. "What is he talking about, Mother?"

The dowager queen sighed. _Everic, can't you ever keep your damn mouth shut?_ "Frexpar and I were betrothed as children. But Partra, thank the Unnamed God, decided against it around the time I turned eight. I was engaged to marry someone else, but after he passed away, a marriage was arranged between your father and I." She stopped, biting her lip.

"That bitch from the Emerald City destroyed him and his rule." Without a word, Elphaba stood, slamming her hands onto the table.

"Don't you _dare_ talk about my mother like that! Mama was a fine woman! And Papa- he was a better ruler than you ever were or ever will be! Yes, he made mistakes, but he was _human_! He was a _good man!_ He loved Fliaan, and the Fliaanian people! And he would _never_ have turned away you and your family if you had asked for asylum! He would have let you in! _As you should have let us in_!"

"Fabala- Fabala, stop-"

She shook Trism off, her focus completely on Everic now. "That's all Papa wanted from you, Everic. Safety. And you couldn't give him that because you're paranoid. You were paranoid then and you're paranoid now! _My family is dead because of you! All because of you!_ My parents, my brother, my _sisters_ were _slaughtered_ because _you_ wouldn't give us safety!"

 _"Frexpar and Melena got exactly what they deserved! That whole family got what they deserved! And you... you should have stayed dead, you little Fliaanian bitch! Exactly like your mother, you are! Manipulative and evil, just like your mother! Hellbent on stealing what doesn't belong to you! Just like your bastard father before you!"_ Elphaba swallowed thickly, taking each word he threw, head held high. "If Diggs had done his _damned job right_ , like _I asked_ , we wouldn't have to worry about you because _that entire line would be dead and gone now; you'd be rotting in that mine shaft like the rest of your goddamned, fucking family!_ "

Eyes widened, gasps were stifled, mouths dropped in shock, as every head turned to the Evian king. Elphaba's mouth hung open in shock, her entire body gone numb.

"I told that son of a bitch revolutionary to do _one thing_ \- take out the entire family and leave no survivors, but _he couldn't do that! He had to let one get away! I made it very clear! Take them down to that basement and lock them in._ Shoot them until they're dead; stab them, beat them if you have to, but _make sure they're dead!_ Then take the bodies out and bury them! _Throw them down a mine if you have to, use acid, chop them up, do whatever it takes!_ Whatever they have on them is yours for compensation, but _make sure there's nothing left!_ Whatever the hell you want to do with that _goddamned country_ afterwards is up to you, but make _damn sure no one in that fucking family gets out of that basement alive!_ So how the _fuck_ did you get out?"


	11. Chapter 11

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

 **A/N:** **Written: 2006. Found: 2017- Licia**

Eyes turned towards Elphaba; silence reigned, and confused glances were shared. Trism, just as shocked as everyone else, glanced quickly at Zor, who seemed just as horrified by this news as he was. Glinda covered her mouth with her hand, tears in her eyes, and Locasta and Partra were unable to contain the horror on their faces. Avaric and Nastoya shared a glance, too horrified by their father's confession to even _think_ of anything to say. But Elphaba...

 _They looked up at them- the revolutionaries- as the family gathered around the landing at the top of the stairs, dressed and ready to go, convinced that Manek was coming to get them, to take them out of Fliaan, to the safety of Gillikin. Diggs stood on the landing, looking at each of them in turn. Frexpar held Shell in his arms, Nessa cradled her little dog, Killjoy. The servants and older daughters held pillows, dressed in their nicest clothes. The two youngest daughters had white bows in their long, black hair, and silently, the fourteen-year-old reached out, taking the second oldest daughter's hand. At their feet, sat the young prince's dog, a scruffy little puppy named Toto._

 _Without a word, Diggs turned, starting down the stairs. After a moment, Frexpar and Melena shared a glance, before following, the children and servants trailing behind. Down at the base of the stairs, the men watched the family as they made their slow decent from the second floor to the first. Many of them snickered softly; a final procession of a once royal family._

She couldn't breathe. There was no way she'd heard that right. Everic... _Everic_ had ordered the... the _massacre_ of her _family_? Everic, her father's very own _cousin_ , had ordered Diggs to assassinate the _Samraat_ , his wife and children. But... but _why_? What had Papa done, except ask for asylum for his family? How was that simple request worthy of... of _assassination_? Of _murder_?

 _Toto rushed after the family, down the stairs behind them. Once downstairs, the men parted, allowing Diggs and the family to pass through towards the door that led to the basement._

Tears began to prick at the corners of her eyes, and she struggled to catch her breath.

 _They passed through the crowd of men, slowly moving down the stairs into the basement; they creaked, those twenty-nine steps. Each one moaned, like a man in the throes of agony, awaiting death._

 _Her heart lept into her throat, her breathing was shallow, thanks to the jewels sewn into her corset, making it harder for her to breathe. She held tight to Elia's hand as they moved, silent. She could hear the men behind them, and suddenly the door slammed. Scratching and a yip caused her to turn back. Toto must have gotten left behind. She turned back to Elia, but the princess shook her head, they couldn't go after him, they had to keep going. They would go back, make sure to get him before they left for Gillikin. Soon, she could hear howling coming from upstairs, and tears came to her eyes. That Toto could be left all alone while they waited in the basement for Manek-_

"Wh... but... n..." She swallowed thickly, tears beginning to race down her cheeks. "No... you're... you're _lying..._ " She took a short breath. "Diggs... he was... he acted on his own... on the... _people's_... _orders_..."

"He did what I told him to. And he should have done it right. I said _no survivors._ "

Zor lowered his head, too stunned to find out that his father was acting on the orders of the very king threatening to go to war with Munchkinland; to stunned to discover that the assassination of the _Samraat_ and his family _wasn't_ the result of a revolution like everyone thought, but a direct hit by a paranoid family member.

"The revolution was the perfect cover- _'Samraat and family die as result of Fliaanian revolution'_. And it would have been perfect if _you_ had _stayed_ dead. Like you were _supposed_ to. The only survivor should have been that _stupid dog_ that got forgotten and left upstairs; the one that managed to escape the house and get out of the yard after the shooting. The other one died in that twelve-year-old bitch's arms."

 _Toto... Killjoy... Nessa..._

She shook her head, too horrified to speak, her mind unable to fully comprehend what she was hearing...

 _They entered the basement, and Nessa immediately set Killjoy down. The dog sniffed the ground at his mistress's feet for a few minutes, before sitting down beside her. He cocked his head, watching the men gathered before them, as the girls looked around. Beside the doors at the back of the room, it was bare. Melena turned back to the guards. "No chairs? May we not sit?"_

"That bitch Frexpar married asked for a couple chairs." Everic shook his head. "Even then, she was still demanding. Though the portrait, that was genius. You and your... _family_... always did love your photography."

 _They gathered together, around the chairs, like they were so used to doing. The servants gathered around as well, silent, dressed in their nicest, heads held high. Diggs studied each servant, each family member, in turn. This... this was the once mighty Frexpar II, Samraat of All Fliaan, the man who had married an Emerald City princess and borne four worthless daughters before a sickly son. This was the man who had once used and abused the Fliaanian people, who wished to expand his empire by any means necessary, who trusted mystics who ended up ruling the country..._

 _This was the man he'd been ordered to kill._

"He would not get my throne, I made sure of it. No one in that family who went into that basement that night should have gotten out alive. My instructions were very clear- _kill and destroy_ any trace. I don't care if those men raped the girls or abused the servants, as long as they got rid of the bodies after."

She shook her head, tears flowing freely now. " _Why?_ What did Papa ever do to you but ask for _help_? He _loved you_. He loved both you and Cousin Tatty. _Why would you kill him?_ _Why would you kill us? Why?_ " The older man blinked, unaffected by the tears trailing down her cheeks or clogging her voice. _"What did we do to you? Why would you do this?"_

Everic blinked, silent. When it seemed like Elphaba wouldn't get her answer, he replied,

" _That bastard got what he deserved_. Frexpar stole what was rightfully mine. He stole Melena from me."


	12. Chapter 12

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

 **A/N:** **Written: 2006. Found: 2017- Licia**

She bolted.

Her chair clattered the floor, but she paid it no mind. She heard Trism call for her, heard Glinda, and Partra and Zor and Trot, but she ignored them all, rushing from the room. Footsteps soon sounded, and she picked up her pace; she didn't remember where she was going, she simply ran, rushing through the palace, Everic's words ringing loud in her head.

 _Stole Melena from me. Stole Melena._

No, it couldn't be true. It just _couldn't be_.

Eventually, she made her way into the grand ballroom, down the stairs-

Her heel snagged on the worn carpet of one of the steps and she fell, landing on her knees. She looked up, finding herself staring at a portrait of her family, painted back in nineteen-ten. Melena was seated in the center, in Imperial court dress, surrounded by her children- similar to a portrait that had been taken a year before the revolution, except that photograph had only been Melena and her daughters. But this... this beautiful, formal portrait had Melena in the center, with her daughters surrounding her on either side- Sophelia and Oziandra on the left and Elphaba and Nessarose on the right, also in court dress, with Frexpar and Shell standing in the center, behind Melena, in uniform.

Climbing to her feet, she hurried down the steps to the floor of the ballroom, before skidding to a stop in the center of it.

 _The doors closed, locking behind the men. Her dark eyes darted between the men, confused now. Why were they in here? Shouldn't they be out, waiting for Manek to come?_

She shook her head, turning back to the portrait; her mother's eyes seemed to bore into her, imploring her to understand.

Understand _what_? That she had once been the sweetheart to a mad king? That that very king believed that Frexpar had _stolen her_ from him? That her family had been assassinated because of a jealous man? Or that she very well could have been Everic's daughter, a princess of not Fliaan, but Ev? The very thought made her sick to her stomach.

 _Silence reigned._

She remembered this ballroom; watching the guests dance with her sisters from their hiding places on the balcony, forbidden from joining in the fun until they reached their teenage years. The orchestras and glowing chandeliers, the beautiful gowns and handsome suits; looking at the portraits of not just their family, but of family members long since dead and gone...

 _They waited, in silence, unsure of what to do. Where was the camera? Had someone gone back upstairs to get it? How many photographs would they end up taking? Just one? Or multiple, like the formal portraits they used to sit for? And since it was to let the rest of their family members know that they were okay and would soon be safe in Gillikin, would it be sent to the papers as well?_

 _The men stood together in clumps, staring at the family, leering silently at the daughters, whispering behind their hands and making lewd comments to each other; comments that would occasionally reach her ears, and make her uncomfortable._

She choked on a sob, shaking her head. _"No... no... there's no way that's true... no..."_

Footsteps could be heard, but she didn't turn to greet them. " _Fabala!_ " Trism's voice barely made a dent in the chaos that was currently swirling within her mind. She tangled her hands in her hair, trying to stop Everic's words from entering her head and contaminating her thoughts even more. The fact that that man could... could... could... she couldn't even _think_ of the right words!

 _"Will we get to come back, Papa?"_

 _Frexpar turned to her, reaching out to take her hand, and she leaned over, stretching to take his in hers. He squeezed gently, glancing at Melena, who smiled softly and then glanced down at her hands, twisting her wedding ring nervously. After a moment, she glanced at Elia, who smiled softly at her._

The footsteps got closer, and she bolted for the other end of the ballroom. She had to get away; she couldn't think with the others around, couldn't piece together the scattered puzzle in her mind. She needed quiet, complete and utter quiet. Other footsteps besides her husband's could be heard, and she picked up her pace.

" _Fabala!_ _Fabala, stop_!"

She ignored him. She had to get away- get out, away from the palace, away from the House of Special Purpose, the basement her family had died in, away from Fliaan, the very country and people she loved so. The Vinkus; she could go to the Vinkus. No, it wasn't far enough. The City... or Gillikin... no, the Glikkus. Yes, the Glikkus would be perfect. Or maybe... maybe she could even escape across the Impassable Desert; _surely_ that would be far enough away from this... this... this _deception._

But could she really do that? Could she really leave her country, her children, her husband- the man she loved with all her heart and soul? Could she really run away and disappear, change her name and forget everything about her past, her family?

 _The men checked their weapons, made sure they were loaded. Each man had been assigned a family member or servant to kill, and he expected them to do their job and do it well. He glanced at the young boy- no older than sixteen- who'd been assigned Elphaba Frexparia. A moment had passed, when the boy's face had paled upon receiving his assigned person, and Diggs had feared that he would have to replace the boy, but eventually, he'd straightened up, accepting that the fourteen-year-old princess with the kind nature and sweet smile was his to slaughter, to do with what he wished before he took her life._

 _He knew the truth of this night and these men- though hidden behind shirts, ties, and marriages- these men he'd gathered would turn into savages once the order was given._

She slammed her eyes shut, clenching her jaw and covering her ears, but it didn't stop the words or memories from coming.

 _Melena. Me. Frexpar. Stole. Kill and destroy. I told him to. The revolution was the perfect cover. Perfect cover. Perfect. Massacre._

 _"No..."_

Trism's footsteps got closer; vaguely, she could hear the others on the stairs. "Fabala!"

 _Slowly, Diggs's gaze traveled to each member in turn, before he cocked his head. Time seemed to slow, as he watched them, saw the unwavering loyalty in the servants' faces, the love between Frexpar and Melena, the innocence of the prince, the devotion and fragile beauty of the four young princesses, none of them older than eighteen. They stood gathered around the fallen emperor, empress and sickly prince, for one final photograph. He watched the second youngest daughter take her little sister's hand, share a smile with the girl, and he was briefly reminded of his own boy, only a couple years or so younger than these girls._

 _What a beautiful, final portrait._

 _Perhaps he should have taken a final photograph of them, after all, so that he would have something to remember them by, before he ordered his men to kill them. Something he could take back to the Evian king, as proof that they had stood for that last 'portrait', before the firing squad carried out their orders. Something he could look at years from now, and relive- the moments right before he and his men massacred the Samraat and his family._

 _Yes, now that he thought about it, a portrait to take back to the Evian king would definitely have been a good thing._

She once more covered her ears, letting out a scream, so similar to the screams in that basement, that echoed through the palace, haunting those who heard it, and giving them a taste of the horror Everic's sick plan of revenge had unleashed on an innocent family that night twenty-one years earlier.

Trism rushed to her, and his arms wrapped tight around her waist, catching her as she began to crumble, holding tight as she began to struggle. Glinda and Trot stopped on the balcony, watching as Zor, Partra and Locasta hurried to help. A moment passed, before the two women followed, skidding to a stop behind the others. She fought against him, kicking, shoving, doing everything she could think of, but he didn't let her go; instead, he tightened his hold. "Fabala! Fabala, _listen to me, love! Listen to me!"_

 _"No! Please!"_

It took only a few minutes for Glinda to realize what was happening; she covered her mouth with her hands, tears in her eyes.

"I don't understand, what's going on?" The blonde turned to the First Lady, the tears in her eyes slipping down her cheeks.

"She's... she's back in that basement... _oh, Fabala-_ "

 _The smoke of gunpowder fired quickly filled the room as the men began shooting; copper, metallic and strong, filled the air, mixing with the screams of her family and the servants as they realized what was happening._

She struggled against him, trying her hardest to break free and run. _"Please! I won't tell! I promise I won't tell! I promise! Please!"_

Trism held her closer, curving his body around hers, tightening his hold as she fought against him. _"Please, Fabala! Listen to me! You're safe! You're safe! You're back in Fliaan, and you're safe!"_ He pressed a kiss to her head. _"You're not in that basement anymore, love! You're in my arms! You're with me, Fabala! You're with me! You're safe now! You're safe! Sweetheart, please! Please, stop! Fabala!"_

She shook her head, long black hair, now down around her shoulders in tangles. _"I won't tell! Please! I promise, I won't tell! I promise!"_ She tried her hardest to pull away, scratching like a cat cornered in a barn. _"Fiyero!"_

Hearing his brother's name come from her lips was enough of a shock for him to release her. She tumbled to the marble floors, knees hitting hard, and after a moment, she scrambled away on hands and knees, turning back, meeting Trism's gaze. The others watched as she sat back, scrambling as fast as she could, feet lashing out against an invisible gunman, though her gaze never left her husband's. Zor moved to help her, but Glinda grabbed his arm.

" _No! Don't! She's not here!_ _She's back there_ , _in that basement_."

Zor turned back, watching as the young empress turned to rise on her knees, facing away from them, as though she were facing-

 _The door._

 _Please be open!_ _Please! I can't go out the other way, this is my only hope! You have to be unlocked-_

 _She let out a cry, pounding on the wood in a vain attempt to alert someone outside, on the other side of the eight-foot tall fence the guards had built around the mansion to keep them in and the villagers out._

She turned around, sliding to sit back on the ground, shaking her head with fear in her gaze, tears in her eyes. _"No... please..."_

Trism had slowly been making his way towards her, but now he stopped, seeing the fear in her eyes. No, not fear.

Terror.

She was absolutely, completely terrified.

 _He moved closer, and she kicked out at him, begging him silently to leave her be, to let her live. She could hear Nessa's screams, as one of the guards held her down and raped her against her will, no matter how hard she fought. And Raina... by now having drawn her last breath; the servants, long dead before the girls even realized what was going on. Elia lay somewhere on the other side of the room, head gone, brain matter splashed across the back wall like paint; and Mama and Papa... both dead before they even were able to fully comprehend what was happening. Shell... she couldn't hear him, couldn't hear his screams, his pleas... was her baby brother even still alive?_

 _Suddenly, Nessa's screams stopped, and she looked up at him. "No... please... I won't tell... I promise I won't tell..."_

 _He raised the gun, and she choked on a sob._

 _"Fiyero!"_

Glinda buried her face in Partra's shoulder as Trism rushed forward; he knew not why she collapsed, but the Dowager and Glinda did. "Fabala! _Fabala!_ "

Frantic, Trism gathered her in his arms, cradling her close, trying his hardest to wake her, to no response. She had a pulse, and he could feel her heartbeat, but it was as though... as though she'd been knocked out...

"Zor! Zor, _help me with her!_ "

The young Governor rushed forward, kneeling down beside the king. They worked for several minutes, before Trism turned back to the women. "Glinda, fetch Dillamond! _Now!"_ Without a word, the blonde rushed off to do as told, disappearing into the palace. "Come on, Fabala, wake up for me! _Wake up for me, darling! Fabala, open your eyes!"_

"Why is she not responding, Partra?" Locasta asked softly, and the Dowager turned to the former Evian princess.

"She was knocked out. In the basement that night. That's how she got out, Locasta. She was knocked unconscious and then taken away after the bodies were taken out of the house to be disposed of."

Eventually, Glinda returned with Dillamond, who quickly set to work, as Trism and Zor scampered back to give him space. Zor tugged Trism back with the others; he gathered Trot in his arms, trying to calm her down. The day had quickly gone from light and exciting to horrible in a matter of moments. He glanced at Trism, who never took his eyes off his wife's supine figure as Dillamond worked on examining her.

"What does Yero have to do with this, Mother?" His voice soft, void of all emotion. Locasta shook her head, not entirely sure herself; Elphaba had never told her of her oldest son's role in the massacre of the Thropp family. It was Elphaba's secret, and as long as the young woman was alive and able, her secret it would remain. " _What_ does my _brother_ have to do with this? What does he have to do with my wife?"

"He was there." Both Tigelaars turned to Glinda, who had wrapped her arms around herself, as tears slipped down her cheeks, making her blue eyes red and puffy. Trism moved towards the blonde.

" _What?_ Glinda, _what are you talking about?_ "

"He was there that night, Trism. In the basement." She replied, gaze going to the portrait of the family. "Trism, he... Fiyero was assigned to kill Fabala."


	13. Chapter 13

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

 **A/N:** **Written: 2006. Found: 2017- Licia**

 _"Is he never going to stop interfering in our lives?"_

Dillamond had since taken Elphaba out to a waiting car, insisting she be taken back to Colwen Grounds where he could monitor her closer, and Trism had nodded. Once the good doctor was gone with his wife cradled gently in his arms, Trism turned to the others.

"Trism, darling, I know you're upset-"

"No, Mother. I'm _furious_. First he steals our firstborn from us before it even has a _chance_ at life and now he sends my wife into a... a... _ahh!"_ Storming past everyone, the young king made his way back across the ballroom and up the stairs, despite Trot trying to stop him.

"When my son gets something into his head, he won't let it go." Locasta whispered, sick to her stomach. "And when his brother's involved, especially when it deals with someone he loves, there's no telling what he'll do." And without another word, she rushed after her son, causing the others to follow. They returned to the lunch; other family members sat talking, engaging in soft conversation; the children sat entertaining each other, putting on a show with the silverware and napkins-

 _"You! How dare you!"_

Before anyone could react, Trism's fist collided with Everic's jaw, sending the aging king onto the floor. Others scattered out of the way, and the children looked up from their puppet show. Silence settled, but it didn't last long. "Trism, _what is the meaning of this_?" But he ignored Sarima, who'd stood.

 _"My wife's slipped into a coma because of you! How dare you! And my brother... did you recruit my older brother too, to be part of your sick, sadistic plot? All for a woman?"_

Everic climbed to his feet as Avaric pulled Nastoya out of the way. He took a couple moments, moving his jaw, before he turned his gaze to the young Vinkun king. The young man's bright blue eyes had turned to deep, angry sapphire, and he was struggling to control himself- for all he wanted to do was beat the old man to a bloody pulp- as he should have done to his brother years ago. "So you're upset that little Fliaanian bitch agreed first to the true Vinkun king before settling for you. You will always be second best to her. She's just like her whore of a mother."

 _"That's not true! Bastard!"_ But Avaric grabbed the young king, holding him back, not necessarily for his father's safety- if he were honest, he agreed with Trism in every way. His father had gone over the rail- had been going off the rails for years, but no one ever thought anything of it. Everyone just attributed it to grief from his wife dying six years ago, but now... now it was evident that there was so much more to this than grief.

"Daddy?" Ryn's small voice caused everyone pause. Glinda rushed past, going to the children, holding out a hand.

"Come on, darlings. We're going home. Faola, Chiss, get your siblings together. Come on."

"Where's Mama?" Faola asked, taking Glinda's hand. The blonde met the raven-head's blue eyes, and she sighed.

"Mama left early, she wasn't feeling well. Get your coats, come on, darlings. Do you have everything?" The children nodded. Without a word, Glinda met Trism's eye, before she and Trot led the children from the room. Partra turned to her sister.

"I'm sorry, Sarima, but we won't be staying." The Dowager queen nodded in understanding. Slowly, Locasta turned to leave, and Partra went to Trism. "Come on, Trism, Fabala's waiting. Thank you, Avaric."

 _"You stay out of our lives, you hear me?_ You are _not_ family. Family wouldn't have family _murdered_." And without another word, he stormed out.

"Trism wait." Avaric grabbed his coat, pulling it on. "We're coming with you." He turned back to his father. "You crossed the line, Father. You murdered a family for _jealousy_. Mother's probably rolling in her grave as we speak." Then, without another word, he and Nastoya left, hurrying to catch up with the others.

* * *

"Trism!" The young king looked up before he could enter the car as Avaric and Nastoya rushed down the stairs.

"That man isn't our father." Nastoya added, taking her brother's hand, the only real blood family she had left. "After everything he's done, he will never be our father." He could see the pain in the young woman's eyes, but didn't ask, knowing it was her pain to reveal when she was ready. After a moment, he nodded.

"Get in."

* * *

"How is she?" Dillamond looked up as Trism darted into the bedroom.

"She's relaxed; I've given her a light sedative to keep her calm. It won't put her to sleep, just keep her relaxed."

"What happened?" The doctor sighed, glancing at the young woman before responding.

"My honest opinion, Your Majesty?" Trism nodded. "Her Majesty suffers from Post Traumatic Stress."

"What is that?"

Dillamond returned to Elphaba's bedside, gently brushing a damp cloth over her forehead before he proceeded to check her pulse and heart rate, just to be safe. "It usually occurs in soldiers who have survived war, but in actuality, it can affect anyone who suffers or witnesses a traumatizing event."

"Will she be okay?"

"She will always suffer from this, but we can help keep her calm and relaxed and keep her anxiety down, we should be able to keep the attacks at bay." Trism nodded, as the doctor left; once he was gone, the young king toed off his shoes and removed his jacket before he climbed into bed beside her, slipping his arms around her.

"... Trism?" Her voice was soft, and she reached for him. He pulled her flush against his body, tucking her head beneath his chin, sliding his arms around her waist, until only their clothing separated them from one another. He kissed her softly, quickly undoing the buttons on his shirt and pressing her to his chest. She curled against his skin, slowly starting to relax at the warm feel of her husband's skin against her cheek. She tucked her arms between them, sighing softly. "I'm sorry..."

"Shh, hush, Fabala."

"I'm so sorry..."

Tears sprang to his eyes, and he took a deep breath, pressing a firm kiss to her head as he pulled her closer. "It's okay, Fabala, it's not your fault, my love. Not your fault. You have nothing to be sorry for. Nothing to be sorry for." _It's mine. I haven't protected her like I should. I haven't been doing any of the things a husband should be doing for his wife. How could I be so neglectful? Unnamed God, I'm becoming like my brother..._


	14. Chapter 14

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

 **A/N:** **Written: 2006. Found: 2017- Licia**

He awoke hours later, Elphaba still curled in his arms. At some point, they'd drifted off to sleep, and most likely missed dinner. A moment passed, before he glanced down at his wife, still sound asleep, curled against his chest. Being careful, he slipped out from underneath her, lying her gently in the pillows and covering her before making his way to the bathroom.

Without a word, he started the tub, letting the water build up slightly before quickly brushing his teeth. The palace had a shower, but Elphaba, never used it; Trism used it more than she did, but that's mainly because Elphaba was more accustomed to bathing than showering thanks to her father. Once done with that, he undressed, slipping into the water and laying his head back against the edge. Fliaan had been one of the few countries to have modern, indoor plumbing before the revolution. The Thropps had had one of the new showers installed in the palace, but Frexpar, insisting that many of the people couldn't take showers because they didn't have showers, forbid the girls from using it. Instead, they took baths, often times in a tin tub with water heated on a stove, occasionally in the tub with the faucet. Trism remembered the few photographs taken of the girls as children in the tin tub- usually taken by their sisters- being scrubbed by their maid, water being dumped over their heads to wash out the soap or their hair being washed, often covered in thick bubbles. There was one particular image of his wife that stuck in his mind over all else.

She had to be about eight or so, sitting in the tub, her face scrunched up as the maid dumped a pitcher or warm water over her head; the camera had caught the image at just the right time- Elphaba was hunched over, face scrunched, water running over her shoulders, and above her, a sheet of water frozen in time, that would eventually fall over her hair like the rest of it.

He couldn't imagine having a shower installed and then not being allowed to use it. When his family's had been installed, he and his brother had fought over who would be the first to use it, but their father had beaten them to it. His thoughts drifted to his wife. How had they bathed while at the House of Special Purpose? Had they done what they'd always done? Or had they been allowed to bathe at all? For Elphaba and her sisters, who were obsessed with being clean- partially because their brother had always been so sick, and so being clean was more for Shell's benefit than their's- it had to be difficult. Perhaps they had made do with what they were given.

A moment passed, before he lifted a hand out of the water. His wedding ring glinted in the light, and he found himself studying the lines of his hand. He didn't believe in palmistry- magic such as that was better left to children's parties and street performers out to make a quick buck. But he was certain, if he looked hard enough, he could find the string that connected his heart to Elphaba's running through his hand. From his heart, across his chest, up his arm, through his palm, out his middle finger, towards hers, where it made the same path until it reached her own heart. What was that saying again? Ah, yes, _the red string of fate_.

He was familiar with the Vinkun legend, for his father had told him of the legend from the time he was a child. Between the red string that tied two hearts together, to the soulmates his mother had grown up hearing of, and had passed onto her sons, it made the young prince never want to marry. His brother had been the same way, but for very different reasons. He knew Fliaan held similar legends of love, but he'd never heard any; he couldn't help wondering if Elphaba would pass on the legends her mother had told her to their children.

Childish laughter caused him pause, and he sat up. The children knew better than to enter their bedroom without knocking first. The laughter vanished, and he sat back, once again becoming lost in his thoughts. But he didn't stay lost for long. The laughter started up again, and after a moment, he got out of the tub, wrapping a towel around his waist before making his way to the door. Something made him pause; on the other side of the door, Nessa stood, hand covering her mouth to keep from giving herself away-

He grabbed the door handle, pushing it open, only to jump when he found his wife on the other side. "Fabala. You startled me. What are you doing up?"

She met his gaze. "I woke up... and you were..." She stopped, clamping her mouth shut, eyes moving down his chest, to the diamonds peeking out from beneath the towel. "Sorry, Tris-" She turned to go, but he grabbed her arm and she turned back.

"Fabala." She met his gaze. "Are you okay?" After a moment's hesitation, she nodded, her gaze going back to the diamonds at the top of the towel. Her teeth moved out to worry her lip, and she slowly reached out, brushing her fingers over his chest. "Fabala? Honey?"

"Can I join you?" Her voice was small, her big dark eyes meeting his. A moment passed, before he turned back; he'd already let the bathwater drain, but the shower-

He pulled her against him, wrapping an arm around her waist as he shut the door behind them. "The shower okay?" She hesitated, but only briefly, before nodding. She had never gotten to use the shower at the Winter Palace; Papa had never allowed them too, because the Fliaanian people did not have showers, so it wouldn't be right if the royal family used one when the people couldn't.

Without a word, Trism led his wife to the shower installed in the corner, and quickly he pulled the curtains. She hung back, watching the diamonds that swirled down across his back ripple with the movement of his muscles. Had those diamonds rippled like that when they'd made love that night at Rigmarole, when they conceived their lost child? Had they rippled on the nights they'd made loved here at Colwen Grounds? When they'd gotten pregnant with Faola, with Chiss, with the twins or Ryn or Kió? She loved his diamonds-

The sound of the water starting broke her thoughts, and she met his gaze as he turned back to her. Silently, he worked on unwrapping her dress and helping her out of it. He then worked on removing her stockings and undergarments, before removing the towel from his waist and stepping into the shower; he took her hand, helping her step beneath the spray before closing the curtain around them. Once under the shower head, Elphaba looked up, holding her hands out, watching it hit her hands like rain.

 _"Will we get to use it?"_

 _"What is it?"_

 _"It's a shower, Fabala! It's only the latest invention."_

 _"Does this mean we won't have to take baths anymore?"_

 _"Go on, Elia!"_

 _"Why me?"_

 _"Because you're the oldest!"_

 _"How do you get the water to come out?"_

 _"I think you use this-" She and her sisters watched as Elia stepped towards the newly installed shower; she leaned over, grabbing the knob and turning it. A moment passed, before water began to spray out, and Elia jumped back with a squeal. The girls watched the water rain down over the tile and drain in the center of the shower, before she stepped forward, the bravest of them all._

 _"Careful, Fabala! What if you get hurt?"_

 _"It's water, Nessa!"_

 _"But it's coming out so fast! What if she melts?"_

 _"Witches melt, Nessa. Fabala isn't a witch."_

 _She held out her hands, watching the water ping into her hands. "It's like rain!" After a moment, her sisters joined her, all four girls acting like the innocent children they were. They gathered in the shower, pulling the curtain around them, leaving them standing in their own, personal little rainstorm. Laughter soon brought Melena from her Rose Room, and it was when she pulled back the curtain that she found her daughters- all four of them- standing under the shower head, dresses soaked through to the skin, hair wet, giggling and enjoying the warm water as it rained down over them from the faucet overhead. Their laughter stopped however when Melena cleared her throat._

 _"What is going on here?"_

 _Papa informed them later that evening that they wouldn't be using the shower; they would still be taking baths because the Fliaanian people couldn't shower, so neither would they._

Trism watched his wife, caught up in a memory- a happy one, clearly, from the smile on her face- and after a moment, he slid his arms around her from behind. She squeaked in surprise, turning her head to look up at him. "I love you, Fabala." A moment passed, before she turned in his arms, resting her hands on his chest.

"I love you, Tris."

* * *

There was something about the fact that Trism's diamonds weren't in direct view that made her smile; that no one would even think to look on his back that made her feel that they were specifically for her and her alone to see. As they proceeded to dry off after stepping out of the water, she let her gaze once more move to watch the diamonds ripple across his back as he moved his arms. After a moment, she reached out, brushing her fingers over the swirling sapphire tattoos, and he stopped, glancing over his shoulder at her. "What are you doing, Fabala? Memorizing me?"

"No, I already know you by heart."

Her soft response tugged at his heart, and he chuckled softly, reaching up to dry off his hair. He could feel her fingers gliding over his skin, along the diamonds patterned on his spine, and he hissed. The center of his spine had always been a sensitive spot for him, more because of the near-crippling injury he'd sustained there as a child, no older than Kió was now. And it had been his brother's fault.

"Sorry, darling."

He shook his head. "It's okay. That spot's just sensitive."

She leaned close when she realized that her finger dipped slightly- more so than with the normal dip of a spine. It took a moment, before she realized there was a chunk taken out of his skin; a good-sized chunk, about the size of one of Mama's precious miniature Fliaanian Vatarkin eggs, that she would often receive from Papa for anniversaries or birthdays, that was shaped similar to... to...

Her breath caught as she realized what it reminded her of.

A spoon.


	15. Chapter 15

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

 **A/N: A little more insight into how Fiyero ended up in Fliaan around the time of the revolution... Written: 2006. Found: 2017- Licia**

"Trism?"

"Hmm?"

"Can I ask you something?"

"You know you can ask me anything, my love."

"Anything?"

"Anything."

"And you'll answer it?"

"I can't guarantee it'll be right, but I'll do my best."

She glanced at him. "How did you get that hole on your back?"

He stopped, one arm in the sleeve of his shirt, and slowly, he turned to her. "I'm sorry, Fabala, what?" She pulled out an ankle-length dark blue dress with a tiny polka-dot pattern, draping it over the back of a chair and stepping into a pair of black silk knickers. A moment passed, as her husband watched in silence as she gently tugged the silk up her legs, over her knees, and up her thighs, before they quickly hid the black curls between her thighs, and all he wanted was to tug them down again and take her then and there, but he kept quiet. "Say it again, I didn't hear you correctly." She shook her head, pulling on the matching bra, lifting her hair and turning to him.

"Hook me up, please?" Once finished, she let her hair fall and then grabbed her stockings, taking a seat on the chair and bunching one up. Trism's blue eyes watched with silent envy as the white stocking slid slowly up her foot and over her leg, hugging her white, porcelain smooth skin with a gentle firmness, before she hooked it to the garter that hung from the belt around her hips. She then did the same on the other leg, before standing and grabbing the dress from the hanger. "The hole in your back, at the center of your spine."

"What about it?" He asked, eyes narrowing in suspicion as he watched his wife step into the dress and tug it up her hips. Though the skirt was intact, the top was one that wrapped around her torso and tied. He knew exactly what she was talking about; he'd had it since he was a child, all thanks to Fiyero. She pulled the top on, wrapping it around her small torso like she was supposed to, before tugging the ends around her, holding them out.

"Tie this for me, please, love?" Without a word, he took the ends. "How did you get it? I don't think you were born with it. It doesn't look like something you'd be born with. It looks like it's from an injury. Was it an accident? Ow!" Dutifully, he did as told, tightening it a little too much as she talked, causing her to cry out in shock.

"Sorry." He whispered, finishing the bow and stepping back to finish getting dressed. She grabbed her hairbrush, quickly running it through the long black strands in a rush, before pulling the front ends of her hair up. The last thing she wanted was to wear her hair up right now, so she left the majority of it down. Once her hair was pinned back, she grabbed a white ribbon, threading it through to tie it into a bow. Once she was satisfied, she turned from her place at the vanity, meeting her husband's gaze.

"Tris?" His blue eyes darted away, and she furrowed a brow. "Did I do something wrong?"

"Not at all, my queen."

"Then... why won't you tell me about what happened to your back?"

He sighed, kneeling beside her. "Because I don't know that you want to hear it."

She reached out, taking his chin in her hand. "Of course I want to hear it."

"It involves Fiyero."

"Oh." She dropped her hand. "What happened?"

He stood, tugging off the shirt and leaning against the vanity. How did he explain this to her? What did he say? Where did he even begin?

 _"I don't want to, Yero! It's going to hurt!"_

 _"No it won't, not if you take some of Daddy's whiskey beforehand. Come on, Tris, you want to play Surgery, don't you?"_

 _"But why can't I play the doctor?"_

 _"Because I'm older!"_

"Fabala, I know you and Yero share a past-"

"Tris, I'm _married_ to you-"

"I just... I don't want you to think any differently of me."

She reached up, laying a hand on his back. " _Nothing_ in your past could ever make me think any differently of you, my king. You don't think any differently of me." He reached across his chest, taking the hand that lay against his back. "I love you. Trism, please, tell me." He met her gaze, pulling away from the vanity and tugging her towards the Cerulean Room. He didn't want the children walking in or one of the servants. He wasn't even sure he could get up the courage to tell her, but he had to try. Once they were behind the locked door, he joined her on the sofa, taking her hands.

"I got this... when I was six. It wasn't an accident, at least, I don't think it was. Now that I think about it, I think it was deliberate."

She furrowed a brow. "I don't understand. Who would deliberately do something like that to you?"

He met her gaze, never releasing her hands. "My brother."

"I don't understand, Tris. What does he have to do with this?"

He sighed. "Did you and your sisters ever play games like 'House'?"

She nodded. "Yes. Elia and Raina always told me I wasn't allowed to play. Or I had to be a certain character."

 _The two little princesses watched through the window as their little sister came scurrying back to the house with stuffed animals in her arms. A moment passed, before she knocked on the door, and Elia moved to get it. "Fabala, what are you doing?" Raina asked, as her little sister set the toys down._

 _"I'm not going to be the maid. I'm going to be the kindly auntie who comes bearing gifts and toys."_

"My brother and I were like that, except we always played either 'War' or 'Doctor'. One game that Yero liked to play was 'Surgery'. He usually made me play the patient, because he was the oldest, and 'the oldest got to play the doctor'." She reached out, taking his hand, brushing her thumb over his knuckles.

"Tris, what happened?" He bit his lip, never taking his gaze from their hands. "You can tell me, you know that. You can tell me anything."

A moment passed before he stood, going to the double doors. She watched the diamonds on his back, her gaze locking on the spot in his spine. "We were... six, seven, I think. I was six, I know that. And... Mama and Papa had been in meetings all day, leaving Fiyero and I to our lessons, but when those finished, we both got bored. He suggested we play 'Surgery' to pass the time."

"Is it like playing 'Doctor'?"

"Not even close, Fabala." He took a deep breath, trying hard to keep the tears in his eyes from spilling over. "Our governess was supposed to be watching us, but we managed to slip away without her knowing."

 _"Yero, we aren't supposed to be in the kitchens! We'll get in trouble!"_

 _"We just need to get a few things, Tris and then we'll go."_

 _"Get what?"_

"We returned upstairs to my brother's bedroom," He stopped, reaching up to brush the tears off his cheeks. It wasn't so much that he was embarrassed, it was more that he didn't want to remember the pain from that day. "And... he told me that I needed to lay on my stomach on the floor."

"What was he going to do?"

 _Something strong and cold splashed onto his back, and he jumped, lifting his head to turn to his brother. "Yero, that's cold! What is it?"_

 _"Relax, Tris, it's just some of Daddy's whiskey."_

 _"But why are you-"_

 _"So it'll numb the pain, silly."_

 _"What pain?"_

 _Fiyero pulled out a small pocket knife Traper had given him for his birthday, and flicked it open. "You're a soldier, who's been wounded in battle. I need to take the bullet out of your spine so you can walk again."_

She covered her mouth in horror, not really sure she'd heard correctly. He closed his eyes, sighing softly, not even bothering about the tears sliding down his cheeks now. This was perhaps the most painful memory of his brother, for he was fairly certain Fiyero had been trying to kill him-

"Tris?" He turned at her soft voice, seeing the tears in her dark eyes. "What did he do to you?" A moment passed, before he returned to the sofa, sniffling. Gently, she reached up, brushing the tears away with her fingers. He caught her hand, brushing kisses to it, meeting her gaze.

"Promise you won't think any differently of me, Fabala. _Promise me_."

"Tris, I could never think any differently of you. _I love you_."

He took a shaky breath. "He said that I was a soldier who'd been... shot in the back during battle, and... and he... he needed to take the bullet out..."

 _His brother dropped a pillow beside him. "Bite down on that."_

 _"But it's going to hurt-"_

 _"Then drink some of Daddy's whiskey, it'll help." He grabbed the canister, helping his little brother take a swig before setting it aside. The boy coughed, and after a moment, he pressed the boy's head into the pillow. "Now hold still, Tris."_

 _The first cut didn't hurt as much. The incision was small, and after several minutes, he widened it, before dropping the knife and grabbing a dinner spoon._

 _"What are you going to do with that?"_

 _"Lay back down, Tris."_

 _"No, I want to know what you're going to do!"_

 _Fiyero dropped the spoon, pressing down hard on his brother's shoulders. "I said lay down!"_

"Tris... oh, _sweetheart_..."

"I think that was the moment I realized he wanted to kill me." He whispered, completely void of emotion. He trained his gaze on her hands; those beautiful hands of hers, with their small, slender fingers and short nails. Oh, how he loved her hands. They were small, but just the right size to fit in his.

 _"Hold still. If I don't get the bullet out, it'll nick your spine and you'll be paralyzed."_

 _The boy tried to do as told, and a moment passed, as his brother slowly worked the spoon in between the skin- he let out a scream as Fiyero scooped upward; he didn't know what his brother was doing, he just knew that it hurt; it hurt so, so much._

 _"Quiet!"_

 _"But it hurts!"_

 _Despite the boy's protests his brother continued working, scooping and tearing, until the pain got to be too much. His screams brought the entire household running, and the door burst open, to Locasta and Traper finding both their sons on the floor, Fiyero holding a spoon filled with skin, a bit of muscle and... Unnamed God, they didn't even want to know what else. "What is going on in here?"_

 _Trism looked up, tears in his eyes. "Yero did it, Mama-"_

"The doctor said that I was lucky my parents came in when they did. If he'd gone any deeper, he could have done irreparable damage and... I could have been paralyzed."

"What did they do to your brother-"

"Sent him away to a reform school in the Upper Kells, but he got to be so unruly, the school removed him. Sent him home a year later. For a while, he seemed okay, and then... the incident with the well happened, and they sent him away again, this time to a boarding school in Ev... they tried several schools but he was removed from each one for misbehavior and endangering other students. Their last hope was a... boys' school in Fliaan, when he was about fourteen; he was there for two years and then he ran off..."

"About the time Papa abdicated." She whispered, glancing down at their hands. "So _that's_ how he ended up in Fliaan, with Diggs."

Trism met her gaze. "You don't think any differently of me, do you, Fabala? I... I..."

She pulled him into her arms, holding him tight against her chest. "Of course I don't, darling. I could never think any differently of you other than the fact that you're strong, for having survived and lived with that all these years. I love you, Trism." She kissed his head, and he held tight to her, burying his face in her chest, finally allowing the horror of what his brother had done to him all those years ago to wash over him. She kissed his head again, running her fingers through his hair, letting him cry. "I love you."


	16. Chapter 16

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

 **A/N: Written: 2006. Found: 2017- Licia**

Faola's tenth birthday rolled around with the changing leaves and dip in the weather. In the few short months since the disastrous lunch, things had gotten tense- particularly between the Vinkus, Fliaan and Ev. Everic was proving to be just as stubborn as Elphaba, and Avaric and Nastoya kept a good, running correspondence with the young couple; their letters and phone calls proved that Everic was slipping further and further and further into madness.

Elphaba, for her part, refused to speak of the discovery that her mother had once been in love with 'Mad King Everic' as the newspapers were calling him; it was something she couldn't even begin to comprehend without going into another panic attack. So for the most part, she was left alone on that front. But that didn't mean that people didn't talk.

She sat on the back porch, watching her children race around the yard, jumping in the leaves and enjoying the late autumn air. Faola, who had turned ten a week earlier, chased after her youngest siblings. "Your Highnesses be careful!" Cattery was with them, watching over them, trying to control them, but it was impossible to control eight rowdy children enjoying a day outside.

"I remember days like this." She looked up as Glinda joined her, tucking her skirt beneath her. Elphaba nodded, wrapping her arms around herself. "You and your sisters would go canoeing in the lake behind the Winter Palace; I was always so jealous because Mother and Father never allowed me to do anything like that. You got to do a lot I was never allowed to do. Crack-the-Whip on the ice when the lake froze over; ride bicycles in the spring, have snowball fights in winter-"

"Aunt Illnora and Uncle Manek meant well, Glinda."

"I know, but I still envied you. You weren't always princesses, you could be normal girls occasionally. I always had to be a lady."

"Papa wanted us to be as normal as humanly possible." She whispered, resting her head on her knees. Her long back hair was pulled back at the sides and tied with a ribbon. For a moment, Glinda was looking at the fourteen-year-old girl who had walked into that basement with the rest of her family that night, not the empress and queen of two countries.

A cry caused both women to look up, to see Chiss climbing to his feet. Elphaba stood, rushing down the steps towards her son. "Chiss! Chiashrán! Are you all right?" She skidded to a stop, kneeling down to check her oldest son over.

"Mama, I'm okay! I promise-" But the worry didn't leave his mother's eyes, and he reached up, taking her cheek. "I'm okay, Mama. I'm sorry I scared you."

A moment passed, before Elphaba nodded, standing. The children watched her, silent, as she returned to the back porch. "You're going to turn into Aunt Melena if you keep worrying like you are, Fabala. He said he was okay." The young queen nodded, taking a seat beside her cousin again. A moment passed, before Glinda reached out and took her hand, squeezing gently. Both women looked up twenty minutes later, when Chiss made his way towards them. Elphaba reached out for her son's hand.

"What is it, darling? Your siblings wear you out?" Something in the boy's face made his mother pause; the light seemed to disappear from his blue eyes, and he seemed to turn an almost sickly shade of green. "Chiss?" She reached out, taking the boy's other hand in concern. Glinda watched with worry beginning to fill her every fiber. She knew that look, she'd seen it plenty of times when she'd been visiting with her cousins. "Chiashrán, what's wrong?"

In a voice Elphaba recognized all too well, the nine-year-old whispered,

"Mama, I'm bleeding."

* * *

 _"Where the hell is Doctor Dillamond!"_

"He's on his way, Your Majesty."

 _"Well tell him to hurry!"_

"Yes, Your Majesty."

Footsteps sounded, and Elphaba turned, to see her husband make his way up the stairs. "Fabala, what happened?" A glance at Glinda gave him his answer, as the blonde mouthed one word to the young king. 'Chiss.'

Without a word, he rushed into the room, Elphaba behind him. The boy's cries were filled with pain, and Cattery and a couple other maids were doing their best to keep the young prince calm, despite the worry in their eyes. The blankets pushed away, his parents saw the extent of the damage done. In only his knickers, they could see a good-sized bruise forming on his side; he'd landed on his hip when he'd fallen, and it was evident that the hip joint was swollen and pained. Elphaba buried her face in Trism's chest, unable to contain her tears. Moments later, Dillamond entered, and the maids quickly left the room, allowing the doctor to work.

After a moment, Trism managed to tug his wife out of the room, shutting the door softly behind them. But that didn't stop the boy's cries from piercing them both. The rest of the household gathered outside Chiss's room, and Elphaba crumpled, upon hearing her son's screams. _"Mama! Mama, please! Please! Just let me die!"_

Memories of Shell came flooding back, and she turned to her husband, something snapping inside the young woman. She flew at him, kicking, screaming, pounding on him with her small fists. _"How could you? How could you let me become a mother? This wouldn't be happening if-"_ She choked on a sob. _"This wouldn't be happening if your bastard brother had just let me die!"_ He gathered his wife to his chest, holding her close.

 _"Mama!"_

Elphaba continued to sob, clinging to her husband, clearly unable to stand, since he had to hold her up. Glinda, who had witnessed the nights when the sisters would huddle together and pray for their brother to recover, pulled Faola into her arms, holding the older girl, who was terrified it had been her fault that her brother had gotten hurt. She was supposed to watch over him, she was older, after all.

* * *

After two hours, the bedroom door opened, and Dillamond stepped out, weary, but relieved. "He's resting now. I've wrapped his hip in warm poultices, and he needs to have them changed every two hours; but he also needs to stay down, Your Majesties. You need to be careful. Perhaps a nanny to watch over the young _Katuris_ ; make sure they're not hurting themselves."

Elphaba nodded, silent. _Like the sailor nannies Shell had had._

Without a word, she pulled away from her husband, rushing into her son's bedroom. The boy was pale against the blankets, and Elphaba hurried over, climbing onto the bed and lying beside her son, being careful of his injury. _"Mama."_

"Shh. I'm right here, Chiss. I'm here, darling. Mama's here." She pulled him closer, pressing a soft kiss to his head before laying hers beside his.

"Mama?"

"Hmm?"

"When I die, will you build me a little monument of stones? Out in the woods?"

Her blood ran cold, and she found herself unable to respond; instead she looked up, seeing Melena watching her from across the bed. Tears glistened in Melena's eyes, but the meaning was clear. _Don't let it, Fabala. Don't let history repeat itself. It's starting to. Don't let it._


	17. Chapter 17

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

 **A/N: Written: 2006. Found: 2017- Licia**

She awoke to the feel of someone lifting her from the bed. A moment passed, before she realized that it was Trism, carrying her back to their room. He helped her into her pajamas and then tucked her into bed before joining her, With a soft kiss to her hair, he slipped his arms around her, and soon, sleep once more claimed him.

But it didn't claim her.

Two hours later, she slipped out of her husband's arms, making her way out of the bedroom and down the hall, towards her oldest son's room. Peeking through the slightly opened door, she saw Cattery gently reapplying the warm poultice to the young boy's hip. She was gentle, knowing how important this task was.

Yes, it was abundantly clear to both Elphaba and her husband that Cattery had proven more than just her worth to them, to their family; she'd proven heaps of loyalty as well. She was more than just a mere maid, she had quickly become Elphaba's confidante, the one Trism went to when he wanted her opinion on how a certain bill would affect the people, the one the children were left to mind when their parents were in meeting. Yes, she was so much more than a mere, lowly scullery maid.

She was part of the family, almost.

 _"You can't neglect your other children, Fabala."_

She swallowed, tears glistening in her eyes. "I'm not." She breathed.

 _"Yes you are. You're beginning to. I should know. I did it to you and your sisters- whenever your brother got hurt. And you all suffered for it."_

She shook her head. "No we didn't, Mama."

 _"Yes, Fabala, you did. I put our long-awaited heir ahead of his sisters, and I shouldn't have."_

"Shell was sickly, he needed the attention."

 _"Not as much as you girls did. You needed it, probably more than he did."_ Elphaba moved away from the room, making her way down the hall, stopping by Havni and Fechín's room. The girls slept soundly, unaware of the turmoil in their mother's heart. _"Your girls are already starting to show signs, Fabala. Because you favor your sons."_

"I don't _favor_ any of my children, Mama." She replied, glancing at Melena.

 _"But you're more protective of the boys. I know you are. I see it. Had one of the girls gotten hurt like that, would you have reacted the same way?"_

" _Of course_ I would have-"

 _"No, Fabala, you wouldn't. You would have told them that they would be okay, but you wouldn't have worried over them like you did Chiss tonight, or his brothers. I know you don't want to admit it, but you do. Fabala, you have to stop. You can't keep doing this."_ Her mother reached out, grabbing her arm, forcing her only surviving daughter to face her. " _I don't want you ending up like me._ " She took her daughter's face in her hands. _"I know I neglected you, and I'm so sorry. I never should have neglected you- any of you. You're my daughters-"_

"When were you and Everic together?"

Her mother pulled away, stunned. _"What?"_

"Everic said that Papa stole you from him. When were you and Everic together? Were you betrothed? Sweet on each other? What?"

Melena shook her head. _"No. Never. I despised Everic, with every fiber of my being. My parents... Grandmama and Grandpapa arranged a betrothal between Everic and I with Sarima and her husband when we were children. Not much older than when we arranged your betrothal with Fiyero- though now I know that Trism was clearly the better match for you."_ The look on her daughter's face demanded she continue, and one former empress sighed. _"We were betrothed until I was about thirteen-"_

"When you met Papa."

Melena nodded at her daughter's soft whisper. _"I implored your Grandpapa to break the betrothal; he informed me that I was only thirteen and had no knowledge of what I truly wanted. I informed him that I knew what I wanted, despite being thirteen, and that I wanted nothing more than to become Frexpar's wife some day. I begged him, pleaded with him to break the betrothal. Eventually, my persistence must have either worked or worn him down, because he agreed. But he wouldn't allow us to marry right away, we had to wait until I turned seventeen."_

"You were born in eighteen-eighty-two." Elphaba whispered, doing the math in her head. "You had Elia a year after you got married." _Which meant you were thirty-six when you died, a year older than me._

Melena nodded. _"Papa and I took the throne the year before Raina was born."_ She sighed. _"I thought Everic was fine with it. I thought he understood."_

"Well, clearly, he didn't, because he insists that Papa stole you from him."

" _Stole_. _It's not stealing if you're in love with someone else."_ She moved closer to her daughter. _"Fabala, listen to me. I never loved Everic. Papa was the only man I ever loved. And I admit, I wasn't a good ruler, Papa wasn't a good ruler. But we thought we were doing what was best for the country and for our family. And not only did we neglect our beloved Fliaan, but we neglected our beloved girls as well."_ She took her daughter's hand. _"Fabala, please, don't copy our mistakes. You and Trism are smarter than that. The country comes first, before family. Country will always come first. And your daughters, they're just as important as your sons. Just because they don't suffer the way your sons do, doesn't mean they aren't as important. Don't let your girls turn out like you and your sisters did. Don't let history repeat, Fabala, please. I beg of you. Don't repeat our mistakes."_

Without a word, Elphaba slipped into the girls' room, checking on both her daughters before climbing beneath the covers of one of their beds and wrapping around the child. "... Mama?"

"Shh, go back to sleep, Fechí." She whispered, her personal nickname for the little girl slipping from her lips. She gently brushed her fingers through the child's dark hair.

"... Chiss?"

"He's okay, sweetheart. Brother's okay. Go back to sleep." The child nodded, curling into her mother's embrace. A moment passed, before Havni climbed out of bed, sleepily making her way to her sister's bed and climbing into it, snuggling into her mother's arms as well. Pulling her second and third older daughters close, she pressed a kiss to each head, as she used to do when they were babies.

Trism awoke three hours later, to find his wife gone. He quickly checked the hallway, checking on the children, before stopping at his older daughters' room. Peeking inside, he found his wife with their oldest twins curled in her arms, all three sound asleep. Silently, he slipped inside, tucking the blankets around three of his girls and kissing them each before slipping out of the room.


	18. Chapter 18

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

 **A/N: Written: 2006. Found: 2017- Licia**

The snow fell gently, turning all of Fliaan into a postcard. The family had just returned from spending Lurlinemas in the Vinkus with Locasta. Elphaba stood by the double doors in her Cerulean Room, watching the snowfall in silence, her thoughts drifting to her family.

It had taken a while, but Chiss had finally recovered from that fall back in October, though the boy now walked with a very, very light limp, it didn't stop him from keeping up with his siblings, though he was much more careful now. And though his little brothers had learned from his example, they were still younger than him, and that meant that they didn't _always_ remember the pain or fear that their parents experienced when one of them got hurt. In the last two months, both Ryn and Kió had gotten hurt, and spent time down; Ruli also, had gotten hurt and suffered the same fate as his brothers. In all honesty, Elphaba had hoped to the Unnamed God that her youngest son would be spared bearing the same sickness, but to no avail.

 _So much for wishful thinking..._

But they were okay now; Faola often made sure the younger children didn't get too wild, and that the boys were careful. She watched out for all her siblings, taking her role as the oldest extremely seriously. Too seriously at times- to the point where her brothers and sisters often called her _Milbaka_ \- the Governess- behind her back.

 _Like we used to call Raina._

"What are you thinking about, my queen?" Her husband's arms slid around her from behind, and she leaned back against him, sighing in contentment. She reached down, covering his hands with hers.

"Just... our children." He chuckled softly, kissing her head.

"Well, instead of _thinking_ about them, how about you come downstairs and spend some _time_ with them?" He gently spun her out, never letting go of her hand, before tugging her gently towards the door. A moment passed, before she allowed him to tug her out of the room.

* * *

They found the children in the kitchen with Cata, decorating cookies with frosting and candies. Trism stopped in the doorway, wrapping his arms around his wife. "I'd say we're pretty lucky, don't you think?"

"To have _eight_ children?"

"To have eight _relatively healthy_ children." He amended, taking her hand and twirling her until she stared up at him, hands resting against his chest. "I mean, sure, eight is a stretch, but, since when have we not been able to handle whatever we've been given?" He whispered, gaze going to the kids. Faola was helping Ruli decorate what looked like a stocking. A moment passed, before the young king chuckled.

"What's so funny, Tris?" She asked, meeting his gaze. He shook his head, a grin tugging at his features.

"Just... we ended up with seven raven-heads and one sandy-hair. I absolutely would have thought that Faola would have been different when she was born- look like you, but with my hair and your eyes. Or Ryn or Kió, even. _Maybe_ Chiss, but... out of _all_ of them, our _youngest_ child is the anomaly."

"Not an anomaly, my king." She whispered, reaching up to caress his cheek. "Just different."

He kissed her soundly on the mouth, breaking away when cries of 'Ew!', 'Gross!' and 'That's disgusting!' reached their ears. Elphaba caught Cata's gaze, and after a moment, the young empress pulled away, moving to join her children. Trism leaned against the far wall, watching in contented silence as his wife helped their children decorate cookies for Lurlinemas.

"Did you ever do this, Mama?" Ryn asked, holding two colorful candies in front of his eyes. Elphaba chuckled, reaching over to snatch one away and pop it in her mouth, before getting up and going to her son.

"Your aunts and uncle and I weren't allowed to decorate cookies. But we did write letters and leave them for Lurline on Lurlinemas Eve." She replied, wrapping her arms around the boy and squeezing gently. She brushed her fingers through his hair, becoming lost in thought. Her sons possessed the same mop of hair as her little brother- even Ruli- despite it being his father's color- possessed the same messy hair that made the Thropps so distinctive. The daughters were renowned for their long, thick locks and the sons for the unruly mops. The black color only made it more coveted; that the other families wished to have that hair become a trait within their families, meant that they would willingly marry into the Thropp family- one of many ways the royal families were so interconnected.

From Fliaan to the Vinkus to the Rose Garden and Gillikin, and many, many more, no wonder Glinda hated trying to keep the families straight.

"What were they like, Mama?" Faola asked, pulling Ruli onto her lap. Elphaba glanced at her oldest, before moving her gaze over the girl's shoulder. Her sisters and brother stood watching- both Nessa and Shell bounced on the balls of their feet in excitement at the cookies and decorations, while Elia and Raina tried to keep the two youngest under control.

"They were wonderful." Elphaba whispered, never taking her eyes from her siblings. "They were beautiful, kind, wonderful people, who deserve so much to be here. They had their faults, but that only made them more human. They didn't deserve the fate they got. And it wasn't fair, that I escaped when they didn't."

Faola furrowed a brow, glancing over her shoulder, to find nothing there. "Mama? What are you looking at?"

A moment passed, before Elphaba tore her gaze from her siblings, turning back to her oldest. "Nothing, sweetheart. Nothing."

* * *

They were awoken the day after Lurlinemas by a sharp knock at the door. Groaning softly, Trism buried his face in Elphaba's thick, black hair; the _last_ thing he wanted to do was leave the comfort of being wrapped around his wife, face buried deep in the silkiness of her hair, and answer the door. But the knocking persisted, and eventually, unable to handle the noise, but refusing to get up herself, Elphaba kicked him hard in the shin.

A clear sign he needed to get up.

Groaning softly, he pulled away from his wife, who only buried her head beneath the pillow, and made his way to the door, unlocking it and tugging it open slightly. "Yes? Malky? What is the meaning of waking us up at this Unnamed ungodly hour the day after Lurlinemas? You're supposed to be with your family-"

"I know, and I'm sorry to disturb you both, Your Majesty, but it's urgent." The young man held out a telegram. "It's from the Governor of Munchkinland, Your Majesty."

A moment passed, before Trism took it. "Thank you, Malky. Now, please, go enjoy the rest of the day with your family."

"Yes, Your Majesty." And without another word, the valet left. Once he was gone, Trism closed the door and returned to the bed; by this time, Elphaba had crawled out from underneath her pillow and sat up, brushing her long hair out of her eyes. She pulled her knees to her chest, resting her head on them with a yawn.

"Tris?... was at the door?"

He joined her, glancing quickly at his wife before unsealing the telegram. "Malky."

"What did he want?" She asked, curling into his side. "What's that?"

"He said it was from Zor." He replied, removing the telegram from the envelope. A moment passed, as his blue eyes quickly scanned the message, his skin going ashen at the words.

"Tris?" The sight of her husband suddenly losing color worried Elphaba, and she reached up to brush his hair from his forehead. "Trism, what is it?" Without a word, she plucked the telegram from his grasp, turning her gaze to it. "No... it can't be."


	19. Chapter 19

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

 **A/N: Written: 2006. Found: 2017- Licia**

 _EV HAS ATTACKED CENTER MUNCH._

 _-STOP-_

 _IN SURPRISE ATTACK_

 _-STOP-_

 _"Everic is just itching for a fight, isn't he?"_

Trism took a deep breath, letting his wife rant and rave. He'd quickly gotten up and dressed, sending for one of the maids and requesting coffee; the young woman had nodded in reply, scurrying off to do as told, trying her hardest to ignore the empress's raised voice behind the closed bedroom door. Once she was gone, Trism moved to go back into the room when a small voice caused him pause.

"Daddy? What's going on? Why's Mama so upset?"

He turned to see Faola standing in the hallway, still in her nightgown, her long black hair hanging down her back in a thick braid her mother had put up the night before. Her blue eyes were still filled with sleep, and she yawned. "Go back to bed, my little pup. Mama's just got some upsetting news, that's all. Nothing you need to concern yourself with now. Go back to sleep; it's early still."

A moment passed before the girl nodded, doing as told. Once her bedroom door was closed, he slipped back into their bedroom, shutting the door softly behind him and leaning against it; however a soft knock soon forced him to pull away. The maid stood on the other side, holding a tray with cups and a coffee pot. He thanked her softly, and she nodded, returning to her room on the third floor, and Trism slowly made his way to the small coffee table in their bedroom, setting the tray down.

"What are you doing?" He looked up from pouring the coffee as his wife finally stopped her rant.

"I figured you might want some coffee to soothe your throat, once you finally finish your tirade against Everic." He replied, pouring himself a cup and taking a sip. The fact that he was so calm and matter-of-fact about the last hour and a half unnerved her, but not enough for her to say anything in regards to it. After a moment, she got up, slipping out of their bed and joining him. She accepted the coffee silently, her mind going over a thousand different ways she could kill Everic.

"What do you plan to do?"

She looked up, meeting his gaze. "What do you mean?"

"Do you plan to go to war, as you stated that day at the Winter Palace? Or would you rather attempt peace?"

She thought a moment, before eventually turning to him. "What would you have me do?"

Her husband shook his head. "I would strive for peace, Fabala. War is not necessary."

"But Ev attacked-"

"I know." He whispered, meeting her gaze. "But one attack does not make full-blown war. If we can nip this in the bud now, perhaps we can avoid major bloodshed. Or a war all together."

He could see the wheels turning in her head, and knew that she would stew about this for the next several hours if not days. She would stew until she could do something about it. This war would strictly be between Elphaba and Everic; Trism would do everything in his power to keep both Fliaan and the Vinkus out of war. It was a family squabble, an argument, and poor Munchkinland was in the middle of it.

He felt for Zor and Trot, he really did.

If he could keep them out of it, and somehow have it be only between the family-

"Fliaan will not go to war." She whispered. "And neither will the Vinkus."

"That much we can agree on." He replied, taking a sip of his coffee.

"Everic made the _wrong move_ , crossing me." She growled, bringing her cup to her lips, but she didn't drink.

"I know, Fabala." He whispered, reaching out and patting her knee.

"I will this game if it kills me in the process. Though I'd rather it kill him. It's time Avaric took the throne anyway. Though it wouldn't surprise me if he had his own son assassinated at some point-" She stopped, gaze going to the mantle, and the portraits that sat upon it. Ones of them, of their children, of her family-

She set her cup down, getting up and going to the portrait of her and her family, taken back before the revolution.

"Fabala?" Now entirely confused, Trism watched his wife, worried about her.

"My family."

"I... I don't understand, my love." She turned back to him.

"My family, Trism! He targeted my family! The last time someone slighted him, he slaughtered my family in a basement!"

"I know, but you're not making any sense-"

"What if he does it again, Tris? Only this time it's not my parents and siblings, but us and our children?"

Suddenly realizing what she meant, he set his cup down and got up, going to her. "Oh, Fabala." He gathered her in his arms, brushing a wild strand from her cheek. "Everic won't do that."

"You don't know-"

He laid a finger against her lips. "I won't allow it to happen."

She shook her head. "You can't stop a madman, Trism-"

"But I can stop a mad king. If he tries anything, _anything_ that even remotely looks like it's going to harm our family, we'll flee to the Vinkus. We'll pack up the children and flee in the middle of the night if we have to. We'll go home to Kiamo Ko. The people will simply think we're spending some time in our second home; they won't need to know." He rested his forehead to hers. "I won't allow our family to follow in your family's footsteps. There will be no captivity, no house arrest, no House of Special Purpose, Fabala. There will be no twenty-nine steps or basement rooms or 'portraits'. And there will be no firing squads. I will make sure of it. If something happens, our family will get out, all of us. I promise."

She curled into him, burying her face in his chest, hoping against hope that this was a promise her husband could keep.


End file.
